


dreaming with your eyes wide open

by so_larrily



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but it's only in one chapter and I give plenty of warning), Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Bullying, Drama, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Magic Husbands/Dads, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Peter is their son, Peter-centric, Romance, There Will Be Heartbreak, There will be mischief, There will be romance, Tony and Stephen are professors, also transforming the true alien characters into Hogwarts students has been interesting as well!, lots of these characters have been aged down so that's been fun (and interesting) to write, other surprise characters are in store!, this will be fun!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-05-08 19:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_larrily/pseuds/so_larrily
Summary: Tony and Stephen are Hogwarts professors. Peter is their son who is about to start his first year at the world's most famous wizarding school. Love, happiness, exciting adventures, and lots of kissing are sure to be a part of it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y’all! This is my first multi-chapter fic on this website, and I am so excited to share it with all of you! This idea came up after my cousin, Victoria, introduced me to IronStrange. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite ships of all time. We started talking about the ship, then we started Sorting the MCU characters into Hogwarts houses, then suddenly we were brainstorming all these different ideas for an IronStrange Hogwarts AU, where Peter Parker was their adopted son. (Tony Stark is basically his dad already, okay?) Victoria and I planned out pretty much all of the important plot points for this fanfic, and I can’t thank her enough for her help!
> 
> Some quick notes. I used the idea that wizards/witches can cast a Patronus and have it send a message. I used the concept of Floo powder as shown in the films, not in the books.
> 
> The title of this fic is from the song “Come Alive” from The Greatest Showman. Disclaimer: I do not own that film nor that song.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Marvel Cinematic Universe nor the characters from Marvel Comics. I also do not own Harry Potter or anything within that universe. This story is not at all affiliated with any of these things; it is just a fun idea that my cousin and I thought up in a day.

Peter really never thought this day would come.

King's Cross Station is extremely crowded this early in the morning, quite packed with Muggles. His trunk is loaded on a cart, his new Burmese kitten curled up and snoozing on top. Books are stacked one on top of the other; his wand, an eleven-and-a-half inch Cherrywood with unicorn tail hair, sits on the top book. Several sets of Hogwarts robes are stuffed somewhere on the pile, along with lots of Bertie Botts and pumpkin pasties.

"This way, Peter!" exclaims his dad, Tony. And,  _oh_ , Peter swore he told him not to wear his Slytherin scarf from twenty years ago. But there he is, in the middle of the busiest train station in London, his green and white (more like brown at this point) scarf sticking out like a sore thumb among the neutral blacks and grays of business suits.

Peter rolls his eyes, looking up to his other father, Stephen. "Tell me again why I couldn't just Floo in with you and Dad? Isn't that the point of having professors for parents?"

Stephen laughs, a low yet cheerful sound. “You need to have the Hogwarts Express experience at least once,” he says. “And who knows? Next year you might be begging us to take the train.”

“I doubt that.” Peter looks around at the people around him. Are all the Muggles confused by the kids pushing owls on trolleys or the women donning witches hats? Muggles will see what they want to see, so there’s no way they see that pink Pygmy Puff on that girl’s shoulder, or the picture frame with a photo of a waving family. Peter wonders how many of these kids will be in his year, how many will be in his House.

Speaking of that…

“Here it is, Pete!” Tony says, motioning with his arm to a brick wall between Platform 9 and Platform 10. Peter glances up just in time to see a teenage girl run into the wall with her parents. Looks easy enough… 

Stephen leans down close to Peter’s ear. “Shall we do it together?” he asks with a smile.

“Obviously,” Tony says matter-of-factly, planting a quick kiss to Stephen’s cheek. They each place a hand on Peter’s trolley, prompting a smile from the young boy. “On three? One…”

“Two…”

“Three!” Peter takes off running, almost leaving his dads behind. The wall gets closer and closer, then there’s darkness for a just a second. Suddenly, Peter is greeted by a bright light, lots of chitter-chatter, a train’s whistle, the smell of sweets. His dads pull him out of the way of oncoming traffic, finding a nice little empty spot by a brown brick column. Peter’s eyes follow the trail of smoke to find a colossal black train with red finish, the golden words _Hogwarts Express_ glinting in the morning sunlight.

Tony circles around to sit on Peter’s trunk, picking up his cat, May, and setting her on his lap. “In case you didn’t guess, kid, that’s the _Hogwarts Express_. A few ground rules,” he starts, giving May some head scratches, “One, don’t sit near the back of the train because that’s where all the older kids make out. Two, don’t sit near the front of the train if you don’t want to be labeled a geek. Three, make sure to—”

“Tony, stop it,” Stephen sighs. “He’s eleven. He can do what he wants.”  
  
“Yeah, Dad,” says Peter, straightening up. “I can do what I want.”

Stephen grins down at his son, giving his hair a quick ruffle. “Do you have any last-minute questions before you board, son?”

Should he say the thoughts that plagued him in the days leading up to this moment? The thoughts that have invaded his mind since he began discovering who he is? No. Not now. He doesn’t even know what will happen that night. So, he goes with, “No, Papa. I think I’m good.” Peter shrugs and adds, “And either way, even if I’m not, it’s not like I can’t just go to one of your offices and ask.”

“Ah, great point.” Tony stands, placing May inside her small crate. (He had to reassure Peter several times that, yes, she will be waiting in his dormitory with the rest of his things following the Sorting.) “Now remember, tonight is the most important night of your educational career. Tonight, you get Sorted. You get to pick your House.”

“Tony, you know that’s not how it works,” Stephen laughs.

“Right! You get to tell an ancient hat which House you want, and it considers that choice before it Sorts you. And which House will you be saying you want?” Tony puts an exaggerated smile on his face and points to his green and white scarf.

Peter shrugs. “Slytherin. It’s my family’s house.”

“That’s right,” says Tony. “It was your Papa’s house, and it was your Dad’s house. Not only that, but your Papa is Head of Slytherin House, after all.”

Stephen smiles and adds, “You know you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But, it would be super cool if you got Slytherin.”

The train whistles again, its shrill squeak piercing the air. “That’s ten minutes.” Tony grabs the handle of the trolley. “Time to load your things.”

With the help of his dads, Peter loads his luggage into the train’s lower compartments. Stephen explains that he doesn’t need to worry about picking it up because it’ll be waiting for him in his dormitory, wherever that may be. (“Hopefully the Dungeons,” Stephen adds with a grin.) When everything is loaded in, Peter’s dads take him aside.

“Do we really need to say goodbye when we’ll see you tonight at the Start-of-Term Feast?” Tony asks.

“Of course.” Stephen crouches and engulfs his son in a massive hug. He feels Tony join in and smiles. “You’re going to have so much fun, Peter.”

“I promise not to go too hard on you in Flying Class,” Tony adds. He lets go and Stephen steps away, giving Peter’s shoulders a squeeze. “Let us know if you ever need anything.”

Peter nods. “I will.” Peter steps toward the train, taking the first step up before turning back to his parents.

Stephen has his arm around Tony’s shoulders, Tony absentmindedly stroking Stephen’s fingers; they give him a subtle wave. “We love you, Peter!” Tony shouts. Peter looks back up and ascends the steps.

“Watch out, kid!” Peter steps back as someone whizzes by him, clearly chasing something. “Josh, grab his tail!”

The train is much more different than Peter expected. It looks a lot smaller on the inside, but the reds and blues of the walls and décor makes it very comfortable. Each train compartment has a narrow hall and a small room with doors and curtains for privacy. As he walks, he notices that most of the rooms are already full of students. Some are dozing off; others are full on snogging. (Turns out his dad was right.) He steps around an elderly lady pushing a trolley full of a variety of sweets, everything from licorice wands to chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice. After narrowly avoiding an older girl making a sprint for the loo, he finally finds a compartment with an empty seat.

There are two kids inside who look to be around his age. One of them is a large boy with black hair and dark eyes. The other is a girl with bronze skin and brown hair falling around her head in waves. Peter knocks on the outer wall of the room and says, “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes,” says the girl, her face void of emotion. After a beat, she smiles. “Nah, I’m just kidding, come on in.” Peter steps inside, thanking her and tossing his robes and snacks in the overhead bin before sitting beside her. “I’m Michelle, but everyone calls me MJ.”

“I’m Ned,” says the boy.

“Peter Stark-Strange. Nice to meet you.”

MJ’s eyes light up. “Wait, Stark-Strange? Like Professor Stark and Professor Strange?”

Peter nods. “I’m their son. Only child, I might add.”

“So, you’re a pureblood?” asks MJ.

“Well, obviously I’m adopted. But according to them, my biological parents were both purebloods.” Peter feels himself smile. “I was adopted from an orphanage for magical kids when I was a couple of weeks old.”

MJ reaches into her bag, grabbing a bottle of water. “I’m a half-blood, myself. My parents are both magical, but my dad had Muggle parents.”

Ned shrugs. “Guess that makes me the only Muggleborn. You should’ve seen the looks on my parents’ faces when I got my letter.” He laughs to himself, eyes bright as he recalls the memory. “Classic.”

Peter stands and pulls three pumpkin pasties from his things. “Well, take it from MJ and me, you need to try the best treat in the world.” 

The train lurches forward, pulling away from the station and on to the best wizarding school in the world. Peter is so caught up in talking to his new friends, he doesn’t even remember to wave goodbye to his parents. As he learns about them, about their families and their backgrounds, he knows this may be the beginning of the best seven years of his life.

* * *

Stephen stands on the platform with his husband, their fingers intertwined, waving to the train as it pulls out of the station and out of sight. Once it’s out of view, many of the parents around them Apparate away, while others begin pulling out Sickles and Knuts so they can use the public Floo network to Floo home with their young kids. 

“We did it,” Tony says, giving Stephen’s hand a squeeze. “Proper send-off.”  
  
“You can’t really call it a ‘send-off’ when we’ll be in the same castle as him,” Stephen mentions.

“We won’t be able to go home and see him every night, though,” Tony says with a hint of sorrow and longing.

Yeah, Stephen supposes that’ll be hard. They adopted Peter when they were 26. Stephen had been working at Hogwarts for two years at that point as the Charms professor. Tony was playing Quidditch professionally as a Chaser for the Chudley Cannons, having played for the Slytherin team for six years during his time at Hogwarts (yes, he lost against Harry Potter a few times, but look who went pro). Luckily, Tony could stay home during off season and days when he didn’t have practice; Stephen would Floo home from school every day. When Peter was about five years old, Tony was in the middle of an intense match with the Montrose Magpies when two other players collided with him, knocking him off his broom in the process. Thank Merlin, he only came away with a broken arm and a few fractured ribs. However, when he healed, his throwing arm was never the same again. He saw several Healers about his arm but discovered that nothing could be done, and the Cannons ultimately let him go. He stayed home as a full-time dad with Peter for a few years before Stephen heard from Professor Trelawney that Madam Hooch was retiring. He discussed the matter with Headmistress McGonagall, dropping Tony’s name in the pool of candidates, and two weeks later, Tony was hired as the new Flying professor and Quidditch referee. Their parents switched days caring for Peter during the day, until now.

It was always fun being able to Floo back home to find Peter waiting there with his grandparents, a wide-toothed grin on his face while he told them about the misadventures that he had with them, from shopping at Weasley’s Wizard Whizzes in Diagon Alley to flying around the countryside on his Junior Firebolt broomstick. Now, they’d Floo back in the evenings to an empty home since Peter will obviously be staying in his dormitory.

If, excuse him, _when_ , Peter is Sorted into Slytherin, he’ll likely see Peter a bit more than Tony will. Heads of Houses are required to meet with Prefects bi-weekly to discuss any issues or concerns that may have come up. Stephen, though, usually goes one step further and tries to talk to a couple of students in each year to get a good idea of the happenings in the House. Perhaps he’ll get to hear all the latest Hogwarts gossip from his son.

“It’ll definitely take some getting used to,” Stephen says. “Now then, it’s time for us to get ready for the Start-of-Term Feast, and I am _dying_ to see you in those dark red dress robes again.”

“Those?” Tony rolls his eyes as they navigate through the crowd, trying to find an empty space to Apparate. “But they’re so Gryffindor-y.” He says the House name as if it puts a bad taste in his mouth.

“But they make that arse of yours look fantastic,” Stephen responds, a bit of lust in his lowered voice. “Maybe you should slip them on for me again, just for looks.”

“Maybe I will.” They find a fairly empty spot on the platform and quickly Apparate home, the breeze from the English countryside welcoming them back. Their house is in a small, rural Wizarding village about 30 miles west of London. “But only if you help me change into them.”

Stephen laughs, giving Tony’s bum an affectionate pinch. “No need to tell me twice.” They take off running toward the house, giggling like teenagers as they go.

And if they take a little longer than normal to get ready for the Start-of-Term Feast, who will really notice?

* * *

Lots of kisses (and maybe more than kisses) and several hours later, Stephen and Tony are ready to head back to Hogwarts. They chose to dress simple. Stephen is donning a dark gray set of robes with dark green trim. Tony decided on a similar robe set, except his are black.

“Make sure it’s straight,” Tony says as Stephen clips a small Slytherin pin over his heart. "I want all of Hogwarts to know that the Stark-Strange’s are a Slytherin family.” Stephen finishes his work with another quick kiss as Tony quickly clips an identical pin to his husband’s robes.

The _Hogwarts Express_ likely has at least another hour before it arrives at Hogsmeade Station. As per usual, Stephen and Tony have been asked to assist the other professors in escorting older students to the Great Hall. It’s usually about a fifteen-minute wait after the other students are seated that the first years arrive.

“We’ll have to tell Peter all about the secrets of the Slytherin common room sometime after classes start,” Stephen says. He quickly checks around the house to make sure all the lights are off (except for the lamp in the living room that is always kept on) while Tony lets Fury, their three-year-old Goldendoodle, into the house and locks all the doors.

“I think that’s everything.” Following one final onceover, they head to the Floo fireplace. “Your office or mine?” Tony asks.

Stephen takes a handful of green Floo powder and tosses it into the flames, causing them to turn a bright shade of green and rendering them completely harmless. “Mine because it’s bigger.” He grabs another handful and steps into the flames, feeling a bit of a faint tickle as they flicker around him. “I’ll see you there, hubby.” He winks, earning a grin from Tony in return. “Stephen Strange’s office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” Stephen throws down the powder as hard as he can; the flames shoot up higher, and his home vanishes. He makes sure to stay still as green light engulfs him before he is spit out of the fireplace in his office, landing hard on his bum. He stands quickly, knowing Tony is right behind him. On cue, ten seconds later, his husband appears. Stephen helps him to his feet and, after one last check for soot or ash on their clothes, they head off toward the Great Hall.

On the way, they hear a loud, booming voice coming from near the staircase leading down to the Hufflepuff common room. The turn the corner, the smells of the night’s meal filling the air, and see a broad, red-headed man having a conversation with who looks to be Professor Longbottom.

“Hey Quill!” Tony shouts. “Up to no good already?”

The two men turn, Neville rolling his eyes and Quill grinning. “Hey, good to see you!” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t doing anything that I haven’t done before.”

“Okay, for one thing, switching the heads of the suits of armor is one of the oldest pranks in the book,” Neville says. “Two, you’re a professor! You shouldn’t be the one pulling stunts like this.”

“Neville, have you met Quill?” Stephen asks. “You should be lucky you got here before he switched the—”

“Whoa, okay, spare us the details, Strange!” Quill laughs, holding his hands up in mock innocence. Neville just rolls his eyes and walks off, muttering something about responsibility and reprimands.

Once he’s out of earshot, the three of them burst out laughing. This is typical Quill behavior; causing mischief and having fun have always been two of his specialties. While most classes at Hogwarts are very serious, Quill took his role as Muggle Studies professor very lightly; laughter can usually be heard emitting from his classroom on most given days. It also helps that Quill was a Muggleborn, and he and his wife (also a Muggleborn) still use a lot of Muggle technology. However, he does still complain about Hogwarts’ lack of electricity and how it limits his teaching abilities. (“How am I supposed to teach these kids about Twitter and Vine? I can’t just skip over those Muggle trends!”)

“It’s good to see you, Quill,” Stephen says, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “How was your summer?”

“It was great! Went by too quickly, if you ask me.” They start walking toward the Great Hall. Stephen and Tony lock hands as they tell Quill about their summer holiday, about shopping in Diagon Alley for Peter’s school supplies, about how they took him to the Quidditch World Cup in France. “Are you excited about your boy starting school here?”

Tony nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “He’s been talking about it for years. We all know he’s going to take after his dads and go Slytherin.” With a laugh, Tony adds, “It’ll be fun to compare his Slytherin experience to ours.”

“ _But_ , what if he ends up in Hufflepuff?” Quill asks, pointing to the Hufflepuff pin on his navy robes. “Then _we'll_  be the ones with secrets,” he says with a smirk.

“Don’t even joke,” Stephen says as they arrive at the Great Hall, where Headmistress McGonagall is waiting for the professors to give them their assignments. “This is a Slytherin family, Peter knows that.”

They continue to chatter quietly, waiting for the rest of the professors to arrive. Bruce Banner, Hogwarts’ Arithmancy professor, is locked in a deep conversation with the Transfiguration professor, Steve Rogers. Sybill Trelawney is chatting off the ears of Wanda Maximoff, the Potions professor, and Natasha Romanov, the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Stephen briefly remembers a conversation he had with Tony where they pondered how long the new DADA professor would stay in the position. There was always something odd about that position, has been since before they went to Hogwarts, and the professor usually wouldn’t stay in the position for more than a few years at a time.

The last couple of professors straggle into the room. McGonagall raises her hands, catching the attention of the Hogwarts staff and sending a wave of silence through the room.

“Good evening, professors. I am glad you all made it back safe and sound.” She smiles, a rare action for the strict headmistress. “As you all are aware, the Start-of-Term Feast will be held tonight. We have 64 new students who are eager to join in our ranks and become the next generation of young witches and wizards. I trust that, as always, none of you will be biased toward which students are Sorted into which House.” Her eyes linger for a few moments on the two of them; Stephen glances at Tony, who gives his hand an affectionate squeeze. “Head of Houses, following the ceremony, I would like for you all to address the new students in their respective common rooms in regard to your services to them. Let them know if you have any additional rules about common rooms or the like.” She presses her hands together in front of her chest, another smile crossing her lips. “This will be another excellent year, professors!”

Once her speech is done, McGonagall begins directing professors to different spots around the area for monitoring purposes. (“We can’t have the older students sneaking off to do who knows what, after all.”) Stephen and the other Heads of Houses are asked to greet and direct students to their House table. Every other day of the year, save for a few other feasts, it is perfectly okay to mingle amongst other House tables; during feasts, it is prohibited. Tony is asked to be one of the two greeters at the main entrance into the castle, which does not surprise Stephen one bit. He’s always had that kind of personality.

Stephen takes his place at the end of the Slytherin table closest to the door. He glances over at the other Heads of Houses: Neville Longbottom for Gryffindor, Bruce Banner for Ravenclaw, and Peter Quill for Hufflepuff. They all make brief chatter from across the room until the older students begin to file into the room. As far as Stephen knows, all of his students like him, so greetings are done in the form of high fives, fist bumps, and lots of smiles. Luckily, there’s only one Gryffindor girl who tries to sit with her Slytherin boyfriend, so his policing duties are very easy. Quill, he notices as he escorts the girl to Neville, is scolding an entire group of Hufflepuff students for trying to sit at the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables.

The last few straggling students walk inside, Tony and the other greeter right behind. Once all the students are seated, Stephen, Tony, and the other professors take their places at the faculty table. Of course, the two of them sit together, locking fingers under the table. Professor McGonagall stands and addresses the students, lecturing them about proper behavior during a Sorting Ceremony.

“She really has a thing about behavior this year, doesn’t she?” Tony whispers.

“Can you blame her? Remember last year when a student shot off a firework after their sibling was Sorted? Or when those horny teens started full-on snogging during the Christmas Festival?”

Tony huffs. “Kids are such rebels these days.”

“And now, the moment we’ve all been anticipating, please join me in welcoming our newest students!”

At that moment, the doors are thrown open, and in walks Hagrid, a huge smile on his face. He steps to the side and makes his way to the front while the students behind him quickly file in. As with most first-year students, they all look slightly terrified, staring in awe at the floating candles in the ceiling, glancing nervously at the older kids sitting at the tables around them. They finally reach the front of the Great Hall, gawking at the Sorting Hat sitting on the stool in front of them.

McGonagall welcomes the students, explaining the process of the Sorting Ceremony to them and pointing out where each of the Houses’ corresponding tables in the room are.

“Oh look, there he is!” Stephen whispers excitedly. Peter stands in the middle of the group, looking handsome in his Hogwarts robes.

“Already making friends, too,” Tony mutters. They watch as Peter says something under his breath to another boy and girl, who try hard not to giggle too loudly. “And causing trouble already, of course.”

The Sorting Hat sings its song, the entire room silent as to respect the ancient hat. As it finishes, Wanda steps toward it, a long piece of parchment in her hand. “Students, I will now begin calling you up here one by one. The Sorting Hat will be placed on your head, and you will be Sorted. Afterward, please make your way to your House table.” Clearing her throat, she picks up the hat and says, “Adams, Charles!” A dark-skinned boy walks up to the stool, taking a seat. Wanda barely has to place the hat on his head before it shouts, “Gryffindor!” The Gryffindor table erupts in cheers as Charles makes his way over there.

“Damn,” utters Stephen. “It always feels good when Slytherin gets the first student of the ceremony." One by one, the students approach the hat and are Sorted. Though professors are not supposed to be biased, Stephen can’t help but clap a little louder when a Slytherin is Sorted (also, none of them look like troublemakers, unlike a couple of Gryffindors he saw). While watching the ceremony, he also has his eyes on Peter. He notices him flash the girl a “thumbs up” when she is Sorted into Ravenclaw; the same thing happens when the boy receives the same House.

“Stacy, Gwen!”

A girl with white-blonde hair walks up to the stool, and Stephen can barely hear her get Sorted into Hufflepuff because Tony grips his hand suddenly. That must mean it’s time for—

“Stark-Strange, Peter!”

Now it’s Stephen’s turn to squeeze Tony’s hand with a death grip.

Peter walks to the stool, giving Stephen and Tony a small grin and a wink. Stephen feels the anticipation in the room rise; not only do the other professors know that the two of them were Slytherins in their youth, but so do all of the current Slytherin students. Everyone knows it’s only right that the kid follows in his parents’ footsteps.

Wanda places the hat on Peter’s head. Stephen can hear Tony muttering, “Please be Slytherin, please be Slytherin,” over and over again.

“Ah!” the hat shouts, causing Peter to jump. “Clearly your family has a history here at Hogwarts!” It pauses for a second. “Oh, interesting! Very peculiar.” Another pause. “Ah, of course! I know just where to place you!”

Another pause. Stephen can feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He thinks he’ll have to have Madam Pomfrey check his hand for broken bones because Tony is squeezing it so hard.

“Ravenclaw!”

Stephen begins to cheer as loudly as he can when—

Wait. Did it say… _Ravenclaw_?

Stephen freezes, his jaw drops. The Ravenclaw table erupts in applause, so loud and thunderous it feels like the room is shaking. Or maybe that’s just Tony’s shaking hands. Whispers echo around the tables, both faculty and student.

 _Ravenclaw_?

“No way,” Tony finally says. “There has to be a mistake.”

Stephen shakes his head. “The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes.”

He glances to his left. Several of the professors look completely shocked. Even Bruce, the fucking Head of Ravenclaw House, looks absolutely shocked. He doesn’t even hear Wanda call the next name. The Hat just Sorted their son, their Peter, their little boy, into fucking _Ravenclaw._

Stephen knows he should be excited for him. He _knows_ it. Peter was Sorted into a House with his two new friends. He found his home.

But, it’s not _his_ home. It’s not the home that Stephen grew up in, the home that Stephen loves.

As the next students is placed in Gryffindor, Stephen glances over at the Ravenclaw table, at his son. Peter is staring right at them, his brown eyes filled with confusion and a hint of sorrow.

And that’s when it hits Stephen. He’s a horrible parent. His son was just _Sorted_. Most parents only dream of having the opportunity to see their child Sorted. He had that chance. But, he was so dead-set on Peter being a Slytherin, he couldn’t even cheer for him when he didn’t get his way.

 _Shit_.

* * *

Stephen steps into his office, closing the door behind him and flicking the lock. Speaking to the new students in the Slytherin common room was a complete blur to him. He kept thinking about Peter, about the sad look in his eyes as he stared at his parents. How could he have been so conceited, so caught up in his own dreams for his son that he was blinded by them?

Tony sits in Stephen’s chair, his feet propped up and crossed on the desk. “I’m going to have a word with McGonagall tomorrow,” Tony says. “There has to be a mistake.”

The blood in Stephen’s veins boils. “I cannot believe that’s what you’re most concerned about right now.”

Tony’s brows crease. “What do you—”

“Did you not see the way h-he looked at us?” Stephen scoffs, pacing across the room. “Anthony, we were so concerned about him being a Slytherin that we couldn’t even be happy when he was Sorted!” Stephen runs his hands through his hair, leaning against the closest wall and shutting his eyes. “What kind of parent isn’t happy for their own child?” he whispers, sliding down the stone until his bum hits the floor. “How could we be so selfish?”

Silence fills the space between them. Neither of them speaks for a few minutes. It is so quiet, one could hear a quill drop. Stephen hasn’t moved, but he wishes he could read Tony’s mind, so he could know what his husband is thinking. He hears movement across the room, coming toward him; he can feel the heat radiating from Tony’s skin as he sits on the floor beside him.

“Stephen, darling, there’s no such thing as a perfect parent,” Tony says. “Every other parent I know has made mistakes with their kids. We’re not any different. And, if I am being one hundred percent honest, this is not the worst thing we’ve ever done. Remember that time we went to that Muggle zoo with Quill and his family, and Peter wandered away from us? Or that time when we were teaching Peter to fly on his Junior Firebolt broomstick and we looked away for one second and he fell off his broom and broke his wrist? Or even when he was a baby and we put peanut butter on his vegetables so he would eat them, and we discovered he was very allergic?”

Tony places a hand on Stephen’s leg. “We aren’t perfect, Stephen, and we both know it. Hell, even Peter might know it. All we can do is talk to him about it and apologize. If he’s mad, he can talk to us about that, as well. If he’s mad, he won’t stay that way forever.”

Stephen knows Tony is right. Eventually, he lifts his head, resting it on Tony’s shoulder. “I just feel so guilty,” he says.

“Well, thanks to you, the feeling is now mutual, sweetheart,” Tony responds. Stephen smirks, turn his head to kiss Tony on the cheek.

“You’re right. We just need to talk to him.” Stephen pulls out his wand. “Classes don’t start until Monday, so that gives us one day to do that.” He points his wand out and exclaims, “ _Expecto Patronum_!” A small, white Labrador emerges from the tip of the wand, looking to him for instruction. “Hi Peter, it’s Papa. Meet your dad and me by my office at one o’clock tomorrow. We need to…apologize.” With a flick of his wand, the Lab pounces off.

They sit there for a moment, the last wisps of the Patronus fading into the air. Finally, Tony stands, helping Stephen to his feet. As Tony walks over to the fireplace to open a Floo portal back home, he can’t help but pray that their conversation with Peter tomorrow goes well.

* * *

Peter knocks on the door at five minutes ‘til one. Stephen smiles at that; he and Tony practically hammered it into Peter’s head that it was always better to arrive early to places rather than on time. Tony, who was sitting in a chair closer to the door, stands and opens it.

It’s not a school day, so Peter isn’t wearing his robes yet; instead he’s donning a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt. Stephen knows it’ll be weird to see him in Charms wearing a blue tie instead of the green one he’d always envisioned his son wearing, but that doesn’t matter at the moment.

“What’s going on?” Peter asks, taking a seat in one of the two green chairs in front of Stephen’s desk. Tony sits in the other one and looks to Stephen; they’d discussed it last night and determined that Stephen should talk first.

“Um, Peter,” Stephen starts, “your father and I would like to apologize for our behavior last night at the Sorting Ceremony. It was very inappropriate.”

Peter suddenly becomes very interested in staring at his feet, and Stephen’s heart breaks a little at that. “You mean how you looked at me like I had cast an Unforgivable Curse? Yeah, I saw that.”

Stephen’s lips purse, and he looks to Tony, silently pleading for help. Tony nods and places a hand on the back of Peter’s chair. “Son, we know what it looked like. Okay? We _know_ that. And we apologize sincerely for it.” He leans over, putting his thumb under Peter’s chin and tilting his head toward Tony. “What you have to understand is that when parents have a child, they envision their child’s future from start to finish. They daydream about every little detail. What will their child look like? What will their future career be? Who will they marry, and how many kids will they have?” He gestures to Stephen, then himself. “Your papa and I did the same thing. I’ll admit, it was a little shocking to me when you weren’t placed in Slytherin, but the only reason for that is because I pictured you being a Slytherin since the day we adopted you.”

“And Peter,” Stephen interrupts, smiling slightly when his son turns to look him in the eye, “we are so happy for you and so proud of you. And if I have to spend the entire seven years that you’re at Hogwarts wearing a Ravenclaw jumper under my robes to prove it to you, then I’ll do just that.”

After a moment, Peter laughs. “You don’t have to do that, Papa.”

Stephen smiles again, both because his son looks joyful again and because he won’t have to wear that disgusting blue every day.

“It did shock me a little that you two weren’t cheering,” Peter says, “but I know that you were just surprised. You’ve hyped up Slytherin my entire life, and one of the first thoughts I had after I was Sorted was, ‘Oh no, what will my dads think?’ I’m not mad. I was just a little confused. But either way, I forgive you.”

There’s another brief moment of silence, Tony and Stephen smiling at each other and silently knowing that they did the right thing. Tony breaks the silence by saying, “Okay Peter, humor me because I’m curious. Did you say anything to the Sorting Hat?”

Peter shakes his head. “I just thought, ‘Put me in the House where I can do the most good.’” And, _wow_ , that’s a mature thought for a kid his age to have.

Stephen stands from his desk and walks around to Peter’s chair, crouching beside him and taking his hand. “You’re going to be the best Ravenclaw that Hogwarts has ever seen. I just know it.”

* * *

After a quick cup of afternoon tea with his dads (they brought his favorite chocolate biscuits, so he _had_ to stay), Peter says goodbye and heads back to the Ravenclaw Tower. He’ll see Stephen again for Charms with Gryffindor on Monday and Wednesday, and he has Flying with Tony and the Hufflepuffs on Friday. It’s not a real goodbye, but Peter knows that once his homework starts piling up, he probably won’t see his dads as often. They’ll probably ask him to come by one of their offices at least once a week to let them know he’s not drowning in schoolwork; Peter enjoys his dads’ company though, so that definitely won’t be an issue.

He’s just passing the entrance to the dungeons when he hears someone from down there call his name. He turns toward the voice in time to see a boy with bronze skin and dark hair and eyes emerge from the staircase, a mischievous grin on his face. “The name’s Flash Thompson. Second year.”

“Peter Stark-Strange. First year.”

“Yeah, yeah, I obviously know who you are. You’re the Slytherin legacy everyone was talking about.” Flash crosses his arms, giving Peter a onceover. “Well, not much of a legacy, are you, considering you’ll be wearing blue tomorrow.” He laughs. “How do your Slytherin dads feel about that?”

Peter glances around in confusion, his brows furrowing. “Um, do you have a problem with me? If not, I’d really like to get back to—”

“Oh no, I don’t _really_ have any issues with you, _right now_ ,” he scoffs. He starts walking closer to Peter, who finds himself subconsciously backing up in response. “Just stay away from anyone in Slytherin House, and you won’t have to worry about me.” Before Peter has a chance to ask why, Flash turns on his heel and walks off.

What the _heck_ was that about?

Peter waits until he sees Flash round the corner before he continues to walk back to Ravenclaw Tower. What Flash said definitely sounded like an empty threat to him, so he decides not to worry about it. He doesn’t know anyone in Slytherin House yet, but what Flash said won’t stop him from making friends if the opportunity presents itself.

He quickly answers the riddle from the eagle door knocker and treks inside. The common room is packed full of students, all in varying forms of lounging positions. He’s not surprised to find that most of his fellow Ravenclaws are getting a head start on reading for their classes. Some older students are practicing spells in one corner of the room, while he spots a couple of others painting on some spare easels in the other corner. He spots MJ and Ned at one of the tables by the wall, locked in an intense game of wizard’s chess. He pulls up a chair and sits just in time to see one of MJ’s red knights take out its sword and cut one of Ned’s white bishops in half.

“Wow,” Ned says as he picks up the broken pieces. “This is the coolest game I’ve ever played.”

“You’ve obviously never played Gobstones,” Peter grins.

“Ew, you’d rather have a marble spray that disgusting liquid on you than watch inanimate objects beat each other up?” MJ supplies. “Also” —she turns to Ned— “check.”

Peter turns to her. “It’s all part of the experience! Though that vinegar smell always sticks in your clothes for days.” He scrunches up his nose as he thinks about the last time he played Gobstones. His favorite Chudley Cannons shirt had to be washed about five times before the smell wasn’t noticeable.

Ned makes his next move, but even Peter knows it’s in vain; MJ definitely has this game in the bag.

“I’ve heard that Exploding Snap is the best,” MJ says.

“Did someone say Exploding Snap?” a new voice pipes in. They all turn to see an older student, probably a fifth or sixth year, his eyes gleaming. “Exploding Snap is my favorite game, and”—he holds up a deck of blue cards—“I always carry a game with me. Fancy a round or two?”

“Absolutely,” Peter says.

He quickly puts his chair away, hearing MJ call “checkmate” behind them, and takes a spot on the couch beside the older student. As they all sit around the table, a few other students join them. While they sit there, learning more about each other, laughing when someone screams as a card explodes in their hand, Peter knows that this is his home. His dads work here. His friends and housemates are all bloody brilliant. This is where he belongs. And he cannot wait for his Hogwarts career to get started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's first semester at Hogwarts flies by. Tony hates Howlers. Stephen is the peacemaker, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Please enjoy the next chapter! A couple of quick notes before the chapter starts... Going forward for now, each chapter will be a different semester for Peter at Hogwarts. Next chapter will still be his first year, just after Christmas. I also changed the name of Tony and Stephen's dog to Fury rather than Thor (I've got some plans for the future!). As always thank you to Victoria for being my hype-woman!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own and am not affiliated with the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics, or Harry Potter.

Most of the time, Tony loves being the Flying professor.

He loves watching his students summon their brooms for the first time. He loves seeing their faces light up as they mount their broom and begin to _fly._ He loves trying to pick out which students might make their House teams in the future.

What he doesn’t love, however, is when a student gets hurt during class.

Of course he doesn’t love that. Falling off one’s broom usually results in fear of flying, and the last thing Tony wants is having to talk to the student about how they _have_ to learn to fly or else they’ll fail the class. It also usually results in class being cancelled because not only does Tony have to take the student to Madam Pomfrey to get checked up, but he also has to write the student’s parents and let them know what happened.

He’s gotten his fair share of Howlers because of that. He also learned that, while Muggles can’t send Howlers, they can curse enough in their response letters to make him believe they probably could if they really tried.

That’s why, when a student got hurt two months into classes, he had to start preparing himself to get yelled at by a piece of paper.

It happens in Beginner’s Flying with the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Peter is standing with his friends, MJ and Ned (whom Peter introduced to him and Stephen, and they already adore them), causing mischief as the students claim their brooms and stand in a circle around Tony. Tony usually gives the students about five minutes to socialize once class starts; it’s a lot easier to fly when you aren’t stressed and feel a bit at ease.

So far, Peter has been adjusting to classes very well. He easily mastered broom maintenance, summoning his broom from the ground, mounting it, and hovering above the ground. Stephen raves about how, despite the fact that Peter constantly makes side comments to his friends during his lectures, he is quite skilled at casting charms. The only class that he seems to be struggling with is Transfiguration (which, given that Steve Rogers is the professor, doesn’t surprise Tony one bit; he never liked Steve’s teaching style). Peter tries to meet them in one of their offices at least once or twice per week, telling them stories about how he and Ned had a roast beef eating contest in the Great Hall and how he and MJ tried to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library and almost got caught. (Stephen playfully threatened to tell Filtch, but Peter looked genuinely terrified at that thought; he and Tony quickly decided that Filtch was still too scary to even joke about.) Tony is just really happy that his son is enjoying himself.

And yes, it _is_ still a little weird seeing him in Ravenclaw blue rather than Slytherin green. However, a couple of weeks prior, Peter told them that despite them talking about Slytherin all his life, he was never sure if it was the right House for him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I have dreams and ambitions like many Slytherins,” he had said, referring to one of Slytherin’s most important values. “It’s just, I love to learn. Grandpa, Grandma, Pops, and Grams would always let me let me read and re-read the books in their libraries. They’d even surprise me with new ones sometimes.” Tony already knew that his parents (Pops and Grams) loved to read to Peter and teach him new things, but the fact that they bought him books? Growing up, Tony was lucky if his parents bought him _one_ pack of Bertie Botts when he asked.

Of course, he and Stephen knew to trust Peter. Peter knew what was best for him, and so far, he seems to absolutely adore Ravenclaw. Peter loves talking to them about his friends in Ravenclaw. They were amazed to find out that he’s even been making friends with the fifth and sixth year students. (In Slytherin, being friends with someone that old as a first year was almost unheard of.) He talks about how they play Exploding Snap in the common room, how they share books with each other and discuss them (“You should see the books that the Muggleborns brought from home,” Peter raves, telling them about one book with a character who is the forbidden son of the Greek god of the sea.), how they have poetry slams once a week. He seems to be loving it, and he and Stephen could not be happier for him.

Tony gives a loud high-pitched whistle to signal that class is starting. The students quickly quiet down, giving themselves enough room to properly perform the tasks of the class.

“Good morning, class.” Tony summons his broom from the ground, turning in a circle as he addresses the entire class. “We’ve been following our class schedule very well. So far, you’ve learned to care for your broom, summon it as I just did, mount it, and hover. You all did very well with hovering during the last couple of classes, even those who hovered a little higher than I had asked.” His eyes pause for a moment on Peter, who smirks; while the rest of the students had hovered about four or five feet off the ground, Peter took it upon himself to fly up several feet above the rest.

“Today, we are going to try flying at higher altitudes. I’m talking twenty or thirty feet at the most. If that goes well, we’ll go even higher during the next class.”

“Professor Stark,” says one of the Hufflepuffs, “when are we going to start practicing different tricks and such? It seems like what we’re doing now is more for beginners. 

Tony shrugs. “That’s because it is. Some of you have been flying on brooms all your life, while others had never touched a broomstick prior to the start of term other than to sweep the floor. We need to start at the very beginning for those who have no experience. Just be patient, and we’ll get to the barrel rolls eventually,” he says, waving them off jokingly.

A couple of the students snicker at that. Tony smiles. “Okay, I need everyone to listen to me very, very carefully. If you do go higher than I do, you will receive detention immediately. We will be reaching a height where you could get seriously hurt if you aren’t careful. Let’s get start. Everyone, please mount your brooms.”

He watches as the students around him swing one leg over the stick, gripping it tightly with both hands. Once everyone is ready to go, he gets into position, as well. “All right, on my signal, kick off from the ground just like we practiced. Once all of you are off the ground, I will follow closely and guide you on the way up.” He grabs his whistle and blows.

Peter (always the eager one) launches himself up immediately, stopping at about five feet up. Tony smiles, shaking his head slightly at his son’s ambition. He watches the rest of the class jump up and start to hover. There are a couple of Muggleborn students who still struggle a bit, but after a few quick pointers from Tony, they join the rest of the class. When everyone is in the air, Tony grips his broom’s handle and kicks off the ground

There really is no greater feeling than flying. (Well, other than watching his son grow into a fine young wizard, but that’s not the point.) Tony has been flying since he was a boy, and since the moment he first launched into the sky, he never wanted to stop. That feeling of weightlessness, the bit of risk that comes every single time you launch from the ground, the wind hitting your face and weaving through your hair as you fly forward… It really is addicting. After Tony’s career-ending injury, he was ordered to stay on the ground for several weeks, so he could completely recover; despite his broken bones and fractured ribs being healed over the course of a few hours, he was still quite sore from the fall. Not being able to fly for those three weeks was like not being able to use magic; everything just seemed so ordinary and mundane.

“Great job getting in the air, everyone,” he shouts, rising above the class and hovering in place. “Now, we’re going to slowly continue floating upwards. Follow me.”

Tony begins to rise higher into the air, his students behind him. He makes sure to glance down every few seconds to make sure that everyone is following his pace. A couple of the students are muttering to each other, but that doesn’t bother him. Flying is easier when you’re comfortable, and if those students feel better about flying when they’re talking, he is perfectly okay with that. 

It’s when they are about fifteen feet in the air that all hell breaks loose.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but he glances up for one second and hears a girl yell, “ _Shit_!” followed by several gasps and shrieks. He doesn’t even think twice about his other students; he immediately tilts his broom down and takes off toward the dark-skinned Ravenclaw falling closer to the ground each moment.

Tony is just about to reach her when he realizes, _fuck_ , the ground was a lot closer than he thought. He also realizes he forgot just how quickly people and objects can fall. He holds out his arm to grab her just as she hits the earth with a harsh _thud_.

His heart freezes. He tries to speak, tries to say _something_ , but his voice is lodged in his throat. For a brief second, he’s taken back to that game six years ago when he fell during a match. He can just barely make out Peter telling everyone they need to get back to the ground when the girl in front of him shouts, “Son of a _bitch_!”

Well. Hearing an eleven-year-old girl curse like that certainly knocked him out of his stupor. He glances up at the students, some of whom are still hovering around the same spot as before. “Everyone on the ground, _now_!” Turning and kneeling beside the girl, he tenderly touches her leg; it is bent at an awkward angle at the knee. “Got a nasty break on your leg. Are you all right other than that? What’s your name?” That was Tony’s only flaw as a professor; he sucks at remembering names.

“I’m Shuri,” she says, her voice laced with both a bit of pain and a distinct African accent. “And I’ve definitely been better, Professor Stark.”

“Okay, Shuri, we’re going to get you to Madam Pomfrey right away.” Tony puts one arm under her legs, trying very hard not to touch her very obviously broken knee, and the other around her back. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he easily scoops her up. He quickly turns and addresses the remainder of the class. “Class is dismissed. I’ll see you all next week,” he says, already bracing himself for the Howler he’s bound to receive the next day.

He’s about to make a beeline for the Hospital Wing when he hears a voice form behind him. “Wait, I’m coming with you!”

Peter jogs up to him, a determined look on his face.

“We’re coming too, Professor Stark,” MJ says, Ned right on her tail. Tony can’t help but notice the flash of guilt in MJ’s eyes. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine, but don’t think I won’t be getting to the bottom of this.”

As they walk, MJ says, “Peter, Ned, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to introduce you to.”

“The name’s Shuri. Nice to meet you, though we could’ve picked a better time for this,” Shuri says with a wince.

“She’s in our year obviously,” MJ says, “so we knew of each other since we share a dormitory, but we actually became friends through mutual hatred of a group of Slytherins.” She glances to Tony. “No offense, Professor Stark. I know you were a Slytherin." 

Tony sighs. “None taken.” Stephen has complained to him several times about a group of troublemaking second years, and he assumes that’s the group she’s talking about. It truly pisses Tony off. Slytherin’s reputation has improved leaps and bounds since the fall of Voldemort, but it still walks on slightly shaky ground. One bad, dark magic move could cause it to crumble again.

The kids around him continue to talk until they reach the Hospital Wing. There’s a couple of kids sleeping on the beds, and one pair of curtains are drawn around a bed in the back. Tony holds back a gulp. Hopefully there wasn’t another Potions accident; he doubts Wanda would be able to contain herself after what happened last time.

Madam Pomfrey glances up from her desk in the corner and rolls her eyes, huffing as she paces across the room to them. “Oh, Tony, you couldn’t have waited until Quidditch season before you brought me an injured student?”

“Nice to see you too, Poppy,” Tony greets with a humorless laugh. “Plus we’ve only got a week before the season starts, so we’ll be seeing lots of each other soon.”

“Bring her to the bed, let’s take a look.” Tony and the students follow closely behind her; he gently places Shuri on the cot.

Madam Pomfrey quickly and carefully takes off Shuri’s left shoe and stocking, revealing a knee that is already quite swollen. “That’s a nice, clean break right there, darling,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ll get you nice and mended up, but I’ll keep you here for a few hours just to make sure it sets itself properly. This will likely sting for a moment while the spell works.” She pulls her wand from her robes, places it gently on the top of Shuri’s knee, and mutters a quick healing spell.

“You’re in first year Flying class, right?” Shuri nods, glancing at her knee and grimacing. “Then how in the world did you break your knee this badly?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, crossing his arms and turning to face the three students who accompanied him and Shuri to the Hospital Wing. “How _did_ she fall?” Tony went from “dad mode” to “professor mode,” and Peter definitely noticed because he stands up a little straighter than he did a second ago.

“Professor Stark, I—”

“It was me,” says MJ, cutting Shuri off. “I dared Shuri to ride her broom side-saddled. She lost her balance and fell before I could help her.”

Tony feels a small sense of disappointment, but this definitely isn’t the first time he’s had a student try to do something stupid on a broomstick. He turns to the girl in the hospital bed. “Shuri, is this true?”

Shuri purses her lips. “Yes, Professor Stark."

Tony sighs. “Well, because of your honesty, I won’t be giving you detention. But, I will be taking twenty points from Ravenclaw for each of you.”

MJ and Shuri nod, both glancing anywhere but Tony and their friends. Ned looks a little upset, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s his son that causes a scene. 

“Are you serious, Dad? It was a mistake! A game!” Peter shouts.

“Yeah, a game that could’ve cost Shuri her life if she’d landed wrong,” Tony says. “Keep it up, and I’ll take another twenty points because of _you_.”

Peter huffs. “This is so unfair. You never said anything about House points, just detention!" 

“Well—” Tony starts, but is suddenly interrupted by Madam Pomfrey shooing them out.

“I won’t have you screaming around my patients,” she says, escorting Tony, Peter, MJ, and Ned out of the Hospital Wing.

Tony notices MJ and Ned stalk away as soon as they exit the Hospital Wing. He glances down at his son, whose face is red from anger. “We’re not doing this here. You are going to follow me to my office, and we can talk about this like civil human beings.”

“I don’t want to go,” Peter says with a shrug.

“Peter, this is Dad talking. Not Professor Stark. You come with me now.”

Peter crosses his arms. “No.”

Is Peter _actually_ serious? He hasn’t thrown a tantrum like this since Stephen took his broom away when he used their Floo Network to sneak over to his grandparents’ house without permission. _Oh_ , Stephen! He always knew how to tell Peter to calm the fuck down without actually using that phrase.

“Fine, we’re doing this the hard way then.” Tony pushes up his sleeves, grabs a handful of robes by Peter’s neck, and starts walking, dragging his son with him.

Peter’s hands immediately fly up and claw at Tony’s, trying to pry his hand off the robes. “This is pointless, you know. You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“Why can’t you accept that I don’t want to talk to you?” Peter asks, breathless. 

“Because I’m your dad, and you don’t get to make the decisions around here.” They turn the corner and walk a few more halls over. Peter eventually stop struggling, but Tony can tell he’s just gotten angrier. They reach Stephen’s office; Tony mutters the password to the portrait of an older wizard casting a Patronus charm, and the door swings open. He pulls Peter inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

* * *

Stephen walks into his office, relieved to be done with classes for the week. The weekend could not have come sooner, honestly. He had just finished a N.E.W.T. level double Charms class, and though his seventh year students were immensely talented, and he loved discussing careers where Charms are highly valued, even _he_ couldn’t stand to be in the classroom with them longer than he needed to be. Though he has students in the class from all four Houses who get along quite well, they do sometimes get into arguments, which only pisses Stephen off (sometimes he’ll add an extra six inches of parchment to their weekend assignments if the Slytherin students don’t stop mocking the Hufflepuffs; he doesn’t understand how he’s still so popular among his House because of that, honestly).

Glancing down at his calendar, Stephen sees that he has a detention session with a second year Slytherin that night. He huffs; now he has to find something for that troublemaking student to do. What this kid did was pretty stupid (this student made another student’s bookbag explode as they were leaving class), so Stephen had to be the good professor and assign him detention. He pulls a stack of twelve-inch parchment assignments in front of him, prays that these fourth-years understand the difference between a Summoning Charm and a Banishing Charm, dips his quill, and begins to read.

He’s about five papers into the stack when he hears someone outside the door. He returns the quill to its stand when the door swings open, and in comes Tony with a furious-looking Peter. Tony shuts the door with such a force that Stephen is surprised it didn’t get knocked off its hinges.

Stephen eyes them both. “Oh, hi—”

“Peter, you are acting like a child!”

Peter scoffs. “Well, I _am_ a child!”

“Oh, Lord have mercy,” Stephen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What happened?”

“He took House points away from Ravenclaw—"

“Yes, because your friends did something that could have resulted in death!”

“But you never said anything about taking House points, just detention!”

“Yeah, if you went higher than what I said! Shuri fell, but it was because of something she did out of her own free will. The honesty that she and MJ displayed made me change my mind and decide to take away House points.”

Stephen swears that sometimes he has two kids instead of one. They sure are arguing like children.

“Okay, Peter, you don’t really have an argument here,” Stephen says, standing up. Peter opens his mouth to protest, but Stephen shoots him a look that shuts Peter up immediately. “From what it sounds like, Shuri attempted something very dangerous because of MJ. As a professor, your dad had to do something to teach them a lesson. You may be very skilled at flying at your age, but that doesn’t mean flying isn’t dangerous. It still is for inexperienced flyers. It may not be what you expected, but something had to be done to teach them to not mess around in Flying class again. Do you understand?”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a beat. Stephen locks eyes with Tony and thinks he may have won this battle. Then, Peter crosses his arms and says, “If they had been Slytherin students, you wouldn’t have done anything.”

“That’s _it_!” Tony shouts, loudly enough to make both Stephen and Peter jump. “You just earned yourself detention.” Tony straightens his robes and glances at Stephen, his eyes a little crazy. “Have fun with _your_ son tonight!” He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, fuming as he slams the door.

Stephen raises his eyebrows at Peter, sighing. “Good job. You made him mad for literally no reason.”

Peter purses his lips. “So, no detention then, right, Papa?” He flashes Stephen a smile.

Now it’s Stephen’s turn not to say anything. He sits back down at his desk, dipping his quill into the ink and pulling a paper in front of him. He pretends to read this student’s work before looking back up at his son. “Oh, you’re still here? Detention doesn’t start until seven. Be here or else _I’ll_ be the one to take House points from Ravenclaw because of _you_.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stephen hears the door close. The second Peter is gone, Stephen sets the quill down, letting out a shaky breath. _Great._ Not only does he have to deal with a pissed off child, but he also has to go home to an equally angry husband.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

Peter has definitely calmed down since the explosion in Stephen’s office earlier that day, but he’s still upset. He’s mad at Tony for punishing his friends (well, Shuri isn’t exactly his friend yet but if MJ likes her she can’t be too bad) and taking House points away. He’s somewhat mad at Stephen for agreeing with Tony and confirming that he does indeed have detention.

He glances down at his watch and sees that it’s about six in the evening. He looks over at Ned’s bed, noticing that his friend is now reading the Greek mythology book he’d told his dads about. “Hey Ned,” he starts, “want to go eat before my detention?” 

Ned slams the book closed, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. “Absolutely, my rebel friend.”

They leave the quiet of their dormitory and enter the common room; it’s always rambunctious in the Ravenclaw common room on weekends. Fridays are typically poetry slam nights, so there’s already people claiming their spots on the couches and chairs; others are practicing their performances for the night. Peter loves poetry slam night.

Too bad he’ll be in detention.

When they finally make it to the Great Hall, the smells of roasts and puddings greeting them, Peter spots MJ and Shuri sitting at the Ravenclaw table.

“Hey, it’s Mr. Detention!” MJ greets as Peter sits down.

“MJ told me what happened. That sucks,” Shuri says.

Peter fills his plate with roast beef and potatoes, smothering them both in gravy. “Eh, there could be worse things. I think my dads are just trying to teach me a lesson.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like they’re acting more like parents rather than professors,” Ned points out, popping a baked carrot in his mouth.

“Be lucky you lot don’t have parents that teach here,” Peter says. He knows he probably overreacted earlier. He knows that what MJ and Shuri did was pretty foolish, but he still has a right to be angry. What he said was true. If they had been a group of Slytherin students, they likely would have just gotten a warning. “Anyway, enough about that. Shuri, our friendship got off to a rough start. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Shuri sits up a little straighter at that. “Of course! I love talking about myself. My name is Shuri, and I’m from a small African country called Wakanda. It’s a country that is entirely made up of wizards and witches. People from countries all across Africa live there. Everyone there is magical, so it’s not uncommon to see people flying on their broomsticks or casting spells while you’re shopping at the market.”

“That’s amazing,” Ned says. “So do Muggles just know to stay away?”

“Well, most of the African wizarding community calls people without magic ‘kukosa uchawi’ which is Swahili for ‘lack of magic.’” She shrugs. “But, yes. There are signs all around the border that say we are a country of warfare. Really, the explosions that the kukosa uchawi hear if they come near the border are likely just wizards practicing their dueling. We are a peaceful country, magic and all.”

Peter swallows a bit of roast beef. “What brought you to Great Britain?”

Shuri grins. “Being a country entirely made up of witches and wizards, we have very advanced wizarding technology. My father and mother led the production of magical products; they created something new almost every month. Eventually, they and the rest of their team decided they wanted to share these products with the world. My parents were selected to integrate their products here in Great Britain. That meant we had to move, which meant my brother, T’Challa, had to transfer here from Uagadou. That’s the African wizarding school.”

“Is your brother here?” MJ asks.

Shuri glances around the room. “No… He’s usually at the Gryffindor table. He’s a third year, but”—she lowers her voice for this—“I think he’s having a hard time making friends.”

“He can always hang out with us!” MJ suggests.

“Yes, I’m sure he’d love to hang out with kids younger than him. That would make him the coolest kid in school,” Shuri laughs.

Shuri continues to tell talk to them about growing up in Wakanda and how weird it is that, living in England, she can’t just walk outside and start summoning fruit from the apple tree in their front yard because Muggles might see. Ned jumps in and starts telling them about life as a Muggleborn, describing things like television and Blu-rays and Wi-Fi. Peter gets so caught up in their stories that he doesn’t remember to check the time. It’s only when Ned mentions that he needs to get started on six inches of parchment about transfiguring matches into needles that Peter glances down at his watch.

6:56.

“Shoot, I gotta go, guys. I’ll see you later!” Peter grabs a chocolate cupcake from a platter and takes off toward his papa’s office, stuffing the sweet treat down and narrowly avoiding running into Filtch and Mrs. Norris. He sprints through a group of older Hufflepuffs, leaps over a cat being chased by its owner (speaking of which, he probably needs to figure out where May is; she’s probably stalking off eating mice with the other cats in the dungeons) and rounds the corner until he sees Stephen already waiting for him. He quickly wipes the crumbs from his lips as he approaches.

There’s a Slytherin boy standing there with him; he’s a nice-looking boy, with sky blue eyes and wavy blonde hair falling in a heap over his forehead. A striking part of his appearance, however, is the long white scar that runs from near the corner of his left eye to just below the left side of his mouth.

“Ah yes, Peter, nice of you to join Mr. Wilson and I,” Stephen says. “You both know why you’re here.” He turns to the blonde boy. “Wade, you caused another disruption involving your classmates.” He looks at Peter. “Peter, you talked back to a professor. Now, personally I would rather not spend more of my Friday evening disciplining students than I need to, so let’s get on with it.” He leads them just down the hall to an old door by the Charms classroom. Peter glances around and notices that several of the people in the paintings around the door snickering and pointing at the two of them.

Stephen opens the door to reveal what looks like a storage space, filled floor to ceiling with boxes, cauldrons, books, and many other things. There are random feathers scattered on the floor, bottles of ink shoved on shelves, and Peter swears that he hears a cat meowing.

“This is the Charms storage closet. All of this is supplies that are used in class. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to take a look at what’s in here. I would like for you both to clean and re-organize it for me. Organize it however you would like. I’ll be in my office if you have any questions.” He starts to turn, but then he stops, holding out his hands. “I almost forgot, no wands. Please hand them over.” Peter rolls his eyes, reluctantly placing his wand in Stephen’s outstretched hand. He looks up to see Stephen staring down at him with a smirk, an expression that Peter reads as _I’ve won this battle._

And, well, Peter supposes his papa has.

Stephen heads back to his office. Peter turns to the fair-haired boy, Wade. “So,” Peter says, “you want to start on the right side, and I’ll take care of the left?”

“Don’t talk to me.” Wade walks over to the left side of the room and begins rummaging through the books on the shelf closest to the door.

“Okay, that’s cool, too,” Peter shrugs. “I’ll take this side, I guess.” He hurriedly walks over to a shelf on the right side, pulling out boxes of feathers and stuffing the feathers on the floor back inside. “So… what year are you?”

Wade sighs. “I’m really not in the mood to talk.”

Peter places the boxes back on the shelf once he can’t see any more feathers and gets to work on a shelf full of cauldrons. “Oh. I just thought that talking would help the time go by faster. Never mind.” He sheepishly goes to grab a rag on the floor by Wade to dust off some of the cauldrons.

“Second.” 

“What?” Peter turns.

“I’m a second year.” Wade looks at him and winks before turning back to the books.

Peter can’t stop the sudden heat that rises to his cheeks. His hands fly up to his face, trying to cover the blush that is slowly creeping up. _That was weird._

“You know, typically, when you ask someone a personal question, you answer it too.”

“What?”

Wade laughs. “What year are _you_?”

“Oh,” Peter chuckles. “I’m a first year.”

“That’s what I figured,” Wade says with a smirk. “I’m used to detention. You, however, looked terrified walking up to Professor Strange earlier.”

“Well,” Peter starts, “he’s my dad, so I was preparing myself for whatever my punishment was.”

Wade’s blonde eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, Professor Strange is your dad?”

“So is Professor Stark.” Peter finishes dusting the last cauldron. “He’s the one I talked back to, and now that I’ve had time to think about it, I really regret it.”

“Hey, hey, I don’t want to hear about your daddy issues,” says Wade. “What I want to hear is whether or not a student really made Professor Strange cry in front of the class last term.”  
  
Peter laughs. Maybe detention won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Stephen runs his finger along one of the shelves, rubbing it against his thumb. “No dust.” He examines the shelves, listing off supplies in his head. _Feathers, books, cauldrons, ink..._ Finally, he turns to the two boys standing in the doorway. “Nice job, boys. And it only took you an hour and eight minutes,” he says, glancing down at his watch. He pulls their wands from his coat pocket and hands them over. “Wade, you’re free to go. Peter, I need to talk to you in my office for a moment.”

As Stephen walks back to his office, he hears Peter say, “Hey Wade, maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe,” Wade says. _Oh_ , Stephen really hopes that Peter isn’t becoming friends with Wade Wilson. He’s a nice boy, sure, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a student in detention as often as Wade. Quill says that McGonagall hasn’t suspended or expelled him yet because of his intelligence (and Strange will admit that Wade has the best writing of all the second year Slytherins), but still. He’s a troublemaker. 

Stephen opens the door and spots Tony immediately. He hears a sharp intake from Peter as he walks in. _Please don’t run away, please don’t—_

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

A smirk crosses Stephen’s lips. He takes a seat, listening to Peter apologize profusely for his behavior and to Tony explaining why he did what he did.

Another Tony and Peter issue has been resolved thanks to him.

* * *

It happens about a month later, at the start of December. 

Peter had just been working on a couple of papers in the library to get ahead on some assignments that would be due just before Christmas break. His bookbag is overflowing with scratch pieces of parchment that he had scribbled notes on, the actual assignments tucked a bit further into his bag.

It’s very late, likely later than he should be out.

He’s about to round the corner to take the staircases up to Ravenclaw Tower when something grabs him from behind, slamming him into the nearest wall, causing his papers to go flying. Peter blindly reaches into his pocket to grab his wand, but the shadow holding him against the wall beats him to it, ripping the wand from his pants and throwing it across the hall. His heartbeat quickens, and he glances up at his attacker. All that he can make out is a dark shadow with even darker eyes that burn with anger.

“What did I tell you, Strange Stark?” the shadow grumbles.

Peter’s brows furrow; he recognizes that voice. “Flash?” he whispers.

“What did I _tell_ you?” he—Flash—asks again. When Peter still doesn’t answer, Flash grips his shoulders tighter and slams him into the hard stone again. “Come on, Strange Stark, what did we talk about at the start of term?”

_That’s not my name._ Peter is completely defenseless at this point, so he gives in. He thinks way back to September. He remembers the little fight he had with his dads. He remembers how they made up. He remembers… Flash threatening him about associating with Slytherins.

Wait, was this about Wade? Peter hasn’t even spoken to Wade since detention! Even while they were cleaning the storage room, they didn’t talk that much. Peter just remembers Wade would say things every once in a while, do things like flash him a wink or a smirk that would make Peter blush—

Flash throws his back against the wall again; this one is more painful than the other two, and pain ricochets through his body like needles, causing Peter to gasp.

“You said not to talk to Slytherins,” Peter says. He hates how weak he sounds.

“That’s right I did. But you decided to ignore me and talk to Wade Wilson.” Flash pulls Peter from the wall and pushes him to the ground. Peter lands roughly on his right arm, his elbow taking most of the impact, and he cries out. He rolls onto his back, clutching his elbow as two hands grab the front of his shirt and yank him halfway up.

Flash glares down at him. “Next time, you won’t be walking away so easily. Stay away from Slytherin House.” He lets go of Peter, who can’t catch himself in time and lands on his back, knocking the air from his lungs for a brief moment.

_What did I do to you_? Peter wonders. As he watches Flash kick his bookbag and send his things flying, as he watches his figure fade away into the darkness, he’s suddenly grateful that he stayed at the library so late. He’s grateful for the shadows of the castle, with only dim torchlight and moonlight glowing around him.

Now, no one can see him cry.

* * *

“I can’t believe our first term at Hogwarts is over,” MJ says, slumping on one of the couches in the common room. She’s got a giant trunk next to her, as do many other students heading home for Christmas break. They get two weeks off of school, and lots of students are preparing to take the _Hogwarts Express_ home to celebrate Christmas and the new year. 

Peter smiles, “One down, thirteen to go!” He’s got his own trunk, but rather than taking the train, Peter will be meeting his dads in Stephen’s office to Floo home.

“I don’t want it to end,” Ned says, stuffing some pumpkin pasties into his luggage.

“Hey man, we’ll be back in two weeks to drown in homework assignments all over again,” Shuri jokes, giving Ned a slap on the back.

May crawls on top of Peter’s lap, curling up on his legs. He sees his cat every once in a while, but Peter finds it curious that she’s always waiting in his spot for Transfiguration class. He can’t transfigure her yet, but maybe she’s just ready for it.

Peter hasn’t mentioned the Flash incident to anyone yet. He just wants to forget it. He almost feels embarrassed about crying, especially because when he returned to his room, Ned and a few of the other boys in their room invited him to play Exploding Snap. He had kept his head low, said no, dumped his things in the trunk in front of his bed, and pulled the curtains closed, hoping that no one had seen his red eyes. He found what happened ironic because the next day, he saw Wade in the hallway. Wade had flashed him a small smile from among his group of friends. Peter had locked eyes with him for a moment before looking down at his feet. He hadn’t dared look up, partially because he was scared that Flash would appear out of nowhere and threaten him again, partially because he didn’t want to see Wade’s reaction. Peter knew he’d just have to forget about Wade. As long as Flash is still around, he and Wade could never be friends.

A sudden commotion arises from the corner. Peter glances up from May to see that a crowd has gathered around the common room’s bulletin board, where students usually post notices about club meetings or important announcements from Professor Banner. He sees several people getting excited over something, to which he says, “I’m going to go see what’s going on.”

“Thanks for checking it out for the rest of us,” Shuri exclaims, leaning back into the couch and throwing her legs onto MJ’s lap.

Peter stands, sets May on his trunk and makes his way over to the bulletin board. He has to elbow his way through the crowd to even get a glimpse at the lone piece of paper tacked to the corkboard.

**Ravenclaw Quidditch Team Mock Tryouts!**

**Our Seeker, Olivia Blackwell, and one of our Chasers, Jack Thomas, will be leaving us at the end of next term. They will be hosting a mock tryout, along with our Captain, Fiona Martin, to determine the likely replacements for next year. This tryout will take place on 4 March to give you plenty of time to practice.**

**As stated every year, this does not guarantee you a position! This also does not guarantee that current team members will keep their positions. This is a trial run to see who might be best for the team next year.**

**Bring your broom and get ready to sweat! (And possibly break some teeth!)**

Well, that’s _very_ intriguing. Peter had dreamed about playing Quidditch at Hogwarts just like his dad. That was exactly the issue. Peter knew that if he brought it up, Tony would not let it go. He would bring it up all the time, try to motivate Peter to train, buy him everything Quidditch-related under the sun.

Maybe that was a good thing. He’d talk to Stephen and think on it before making his decision.

Speaking of his dads, he glances at the grandfather clock standing against one of the walls and sees it’s nearly two in the afternoon. That was the time he was to meet them at Stephen’s office. He runs over to his things, pulling up the handle on his trunk to drag it with him and waking up May so she can follow him.

“All right, everyone, I’m out,” he says, giving each of his friends a quick hug. “Have a great holiday!”

“You too, mate,” says Ned.

Shuri laughs, “Don’t eat too many sweets!”

“Remember to read that book I gave you,” MJ says. “I want to discuss it in detail when we get back.”

“Will do.” Peter waves one last time before heading for the door. He’s stopped by a few of his fellow Ravenclaws, who wish him a happy Christmas. Eventually, he makes it out the door, May rubbing up against his ankles as he walks.

Lots of students are roaming the corridors right now. There’s a group of Gryffindors hugging each other. A few Hufflepuff students sit in a circle exchanging gifts. And of course, there’s a fair number of couples of all kinds making out in the dark corners here and there. Peter assumes that this is typical student behavior prior to a break. He wonders what it will be like when summer break arrives, and students go several months without seeing their significant others or friends.

When he makes it to Stephen’s office, he glances to the portrait to tell the wizard pictured the password. The wizard looks over at him, dropping his wand and smiling.

“Good afternoon, Peter!” he exclaims. “Your dads are waiting inside for you.”

“Thanks, sir. Oh, and”—he drops his voice to a whisper—“ _pumpkin juice_.”

The wizard nods at the sound of the password and gestures to the door with his hand. Peter hears the lock click, and he swings the door open, walks inside, and is greeted by the sound of his dads arguing. Stephen sits at his desk, throwing his arms about as he yells at Tony, who stands on the opposite side of the room with his arms crossed.

“No, Tony, you don’t just get to call dibs on a piece of cheesecake!” Stephen huffs.

“Then why did you say it was okay after I did?” Tony points out.

Stephen laughs sarcastically. “I did not, and you know it! Strawberry cheesecake is my favorite. Why would I let you have the last piece?”

“Because you love me,” Tony says with a wink. “Plus, it had my name on it.”

Stephen’s jaw drops. “It did no—”

“Hi, dads!” Peter exclaims. Tony and Stephen’s heads whip around to face him, as if they didn’t even notice he walked in the room. “I’m ready to head home!”

They both stare at him for a moment before Tony says, “Ah, yes!” He smiles, walking over to Peter and grabbing his trunk. “Let’s get you home!”

As Stephen prepares the fireplace for Floo travel, Tony leans down and whispers to Peter, “Also, we may be going out tonight to get your Papa a cheesecake even though he’s wrong.”

“I heard that,” Stephen says, causing Tony to jump.

Peter laughs. Though he knows he’ll definitely miss his friends over the break, he’s extremely grateful to get to spend some time with his dads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any additional feedback or just want to talk, you can find me on tumblr at sllytherinharry.tumblr.com.
> 
> See y'all soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen has an issue. Tony almost gets into a fight. Peter participates in mock tryouts. What else might happen during the second half of Peter's first year?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I hope you enjoy the next chapter of the story. A quick note: I decided to do away with two chapters for each of Peter's years at Hogwarts. There might just be longer chapters!
> 
> Note: There may be something...a little bit adultish at the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter stands outside the cracked office door, his voice lodged in his throat. He’s both excited about and dreading this conversation. 

Stephen places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just go talk to him. You know he’ll be thrilled.”

He glances up at his papa, who looks down at him with a smile on his face. He’d just had a very long conversation with him about the possibility to joining the Quidditch team. Stephen, being the overprotective parent, was sure to inform him of the risks that came with playing Quidditch, bringing up his dad’s accident during a match that cost him his career. However, Peter remained set on at least trying. He knew, though, that Tony would probably be overly excited.

Taking a deep breath, Peter pushes open the door. Tony is sitting at a chair near the window, reading the book that MJ had asked Peter to read; it was an interesting one, about a world where children are forced to kill each other in an arena until one kid remained. He had made a mental note to ask her for the sequel when they got back to school.

Tony’s head jerks up at the sound of Peter’s footsteps. He smiles, slipping a bookmark between the pages and setting the book on the table. “Hi, Pete.” Peter sees his eyes flick over to Stephen, who is still standing in the doorway. “What’s going on, son?”

He motions to the empty chair beside him, and Peter quickly takes a seat. “Well, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

Curiosity flashes in Tony’s eyes. “You haven’t been feeding Fury the cat food, have you?”

“No,” Peter laughs. “This has to do with school.” Peter gulps. “Um, right before the break, someone hung a notice in the Ravenclaw common room. It’s about…” He glances at Stephen, who motions for him to continue. “They’re having mock tryouts for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team in March, and I want to go.”

Tony doesn’t say anything at first; he just stares at Peter with an almost confused face. Peter’s eyes drift over to Stephen, who gives a small shrug. “Um, I—”

Peter is interrupted by a loud shout from Tony, who fist pumps the air and stands, picking up Peter and jumping up and down. “This is the best day of my life! My boy wants to play Quidditch, just like his old man!”

He hears Stephen start laughing across the room, and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face. “Dad, I’m glad you’re happy!” he exclaims, his voice very shaky as Tony continues to jump around. Tony’s grip only tightens, and Peter quickly says, “But I can’t breathe!”

“Oh, sorry!” Tony sets Peter down, smiling from ear to ear. “So, what position are you thinking about?”

“Well, I really don’t want to be Keeper,” he says.

“Yeah, I agree. I also don’t think Beater is your strong suit. I can’t see you wanting to purposefully try to hurt people like that.” Peter tries not to gape at his dad; it’s insane how quickly his mind can move, similar to how a Quidditch player’s mind works during a game. Tony is juggling the possibilities back and forth, just like a Quaffle, determining the best action. “You know what? You’ve always had a sharp eye for things. You could try Seeker.” His eyebrows raise with excitement, and his smile seems to only grow as he says, “You could also put your quick wit to use and be a Chaser like me!”

Peter grins. “I’ll probably try both, then,” he says.

Tony practically squeals, wrapping Peter in another tight hug. “This is so exciting!” He lets go, and Peter sees another idea has lit up his eyes. “We gotta go start practicing if you want to make the team! Ravenclaw is really strict on who they let onto their team.” Tony starts to make a beeline for the door, but Stephen quickly stops him.

“Tony, it’s Christmas Eve,” Stephen says. “Shouldn’t this wait until after the holiday?”

Stephen might as well have said that Quidditch is a dead sport; the offended expression on Tony’s face is absolutely priceless. “Are you kidding? I’m contacting my parents now and letting them know we won’t be able to make it for dinner because I have to train Hogwarts’ next all-star Quidditch player!” He easily side steps Stephen and runs out of the room.

“Oh dear,” Stephen sighs, rolling his eyes and running after him.

Peter can’t help but giggle. He expected nothing less from his dad.

* * *

 

When Stephen is brought out of the abyss of sleep, early morning sunlight peeking through the curtains, he feels…odd.

He and Tony had a low fire blazing in the fireplace when they’d gone to bed, so that’s probably why he has a thin sheen of sweat along his body. He very carefully peels himself away from where he was spooning Tony, shoving the sheets and duvet off of him to cool off. He glances down and… _oh_. That’s why he feels odd.

Stephen realizes he has not woken up with this issue in _months_. What kind of a dream did he have last night? Well, it’s nothing he can’t handle on his own, and he definitely doesn’t want to wake up his husband so early on Christmas morning. He gently swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the T-shirt he’d discarded on the floor before climbing into bed the night before. He’s about to grab some lube from his bedside table when he hears Tony stirring.

“Good morning, love,” Tony whispers.

“Morning,” Stephen says, his voice annoyingly raspy. He really needs to get to the bathroom. He starts to push himself off the bed, but a hand quickly grabs his wrist.

“No, it’s Christmas. Stay a few more minutes,” Tony says.

 _Shit._ “Um, I really need to use the bathroom.” Stephen tries to carefully pry Tony’s hand off of his arm, but Tony keeps a steady grip.

“Why are you so eager to get to the bathroom?” Tony asks. He sits up on his elbow and immediately spots the issue sitting in Stephen’s lap. “Oh, honey. You need some help with that?”

Stephen shakes his head. “I can handle it, thanks.”

Tony’s eyes suddenly get darker. “Let me help you,” he says, his voice full of lust. “Think of it as your first Christmas present.”

Well, Stephen can’t say no to that, especially when Tony looks at him with that playful longing in his eyes. Stephen leans close to Tony, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him closer until their lips meet. He deepens the kiss, gently slipping his tongue in between Tony’s lips. He actually feels Tony grimace and pull away, moving down and pecking kisses on his cheeks, his jawline, his neck.

“You have terrible morning breath,” Tony says between kisses.

Stephen chuckles, partially because of his husband mocking his breath and partially because Tony just kissed a very ticklish dip in his neck. He feels a hand grab him around his boxers, and he sucks in a deep breath as Tony kisses his lips again.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he says. Tony’s hands find the waistline of his boxers, and Stephen feels them begin to move when there’s a loud knock at the door.

“Dad, Papa, are you up? It’s Christmas!” Peter pipes up.

“Fuck,” Tony whispers. He dives for his wand on his bedside table and whispers, “ _Colloportus_!” Stephen hears the lock on the door click. “We’ll be out in a few minutes, Peter!”

Peter laughs. “Well, hurry! I’m ready for presents!”

It’s only when Stephen hears Peter’s footsteps recede and his door slam that he allows himself to breathe again. He flops back down on the bed, Tony laying down beside him.

“Why does this always happen?” Tony says, clearly out of breath.

“What is it with kids waking up so early on Christmas morning?” Stephen asks.

They lay there in silence for a few moments. Eventually, Stephen sits up, gingerly draping his legs over the side of the bed, his issue throbbing. “I’m gonna go take care of this myself now.” He grabs the lube and stands. “Go distract the boy and tell him Papa will be there soon."

As he closes the bathroom door, he hears Tony say, “We’ll continue this tonight.”

Stephen doesn’t bother to hold back the smirk that surfaces.

* * *

 

“How was your Christmas, Quill?”

Tony and Quill are in the Flying storage shed, organizing and polishing brooms for Tony’s upcoming classes. (When Tony mentioned what they were going to be doing, Quill practically dove for the broom polish, insisting that he has better polishing skills than Tony, an actual former Quidditch pro.) The new year started just a couple of days ago, and classes begin the following week. They’ve already tried to install something called a “hotspot” in Quill’s classroom. “It’s so I can access the Internet!” Quill had said. “None of these kids want to hear about Muggle household objects. What they _want_ are things like movies, TV shows, social media, Vine!” He mentioned that he again petitioned McGonagall to install electricity in his classroom, but she won’t have it. “We can have indoor plumbing, but no electricity. How does that make sense?” he had complained.

“Good! We went to see Gamora’s parents in Doncaster. Then we spent the new year with my parents in Cheshire.” There’s a pause, concerning Tony enough to make him turn from where he is throwing out worn, ancient Quaffles. Quill is sticking his tongue out, an odd expression on his face as he rubs desperately at a spot on one of the brooms. He glances up and sees Tony’s flabbergasted stare. “Sorry. How was yours?”

Tony smiles. “Really good. Christmas was wonderful. My favorite present, though, was when Peter told me he wants to join the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team. I’ve been working with him on his performance, maybe a little too much.” He scoffs. “I think I’m becoming his least favorite parent.”

That was probably very true. Of course, they stayed true to all of their holiday plans. But when they were home, Tony was working with Peter at least four hours a day. The only reason he wasn’t working with him now was because Stephen shooed him out of the house. (“If you still want your son to love you, you’ll _leave_ ,” Stephen had said.) His husband had mentioned he was taking Peter to Hogsmeade to “act like a normal kid” or whatever. Peter was definitely getting better, but he could still work on his sharp directional turns.

“Tell me about it,” Quill says. “Daniel is so not happy with me right now. He keeps insisting that Gamora and I start calling him Drax. What the hell kind of nickname is that?”

Tony laughs. Daniel is Quill and Gamora’s adorable four-year-old son. Even at that age, he is the spitting image of his father; same red hair and dark green eyes and everything. He’s also just as mischievous as Quill, always getting into trouble. But Tony knows that there’s probably no kid on Earth as spoiled as him (other than Peter, of course).

“You’re one to talk about nicknames, Star-Lord,” Tony chuckles.

“Hey, that was actually a great nickname when I was the star of Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team!” Quill responds defensively, only causing Tony to laugh more. Quill was two years younger than Tony, but he was a hell of a Keeper. They weren’t really friends during their Hogwarts years, but they did play against each other. Tony could respect any man who could shatter his femur during a match and still finish the game.

There’s a sudden commotion outside the storage shed. Tony is about to place some of the brooms back in their holders when the door bursts open. The first person looks absolutely furious, practically fuming. The other seems both annoyed and disappointed.

“Steve Rogers,” Tony says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can it, Stark,” Steve scoffs. “Quill here says you’ve been talking shit about the way I teach.”

 _Dammit, Quill._ Tony whirls around to Quill, who is suddenly very interested in polishing the broom in his lap. “Oh, did he?” Tony says through gritted teeth. “That was supposed to be a private conversation.”

Quill holds up his hands in innocence. “Hey mate, I told you I’m an open book! It’s impossible for me to keep a secret!”

 _Clearly._ Tony wishes he could Apparate away.

“Hey, I tried to stop him. Just apologize for what you said, and I’ll drag him away,” says Steve’s dark-haired friend.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

The dark-haired man opens his mouth to say something, but Steve cuts him off. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about him. This is between you and me,” he says, pointing to the two of them.

“I just wanted to know his name,” Tony mutters. “Fine,” he says, louder. “Whatever you think you heard, I didn’t say it.”

“Really? You didn’t say that my students leave my class dumber than they were when they walked in?”

Tony puts a hand to his chest, giving a dramatic gasp. “I would never say such a thing!” He totally said that. He’s also totally going to kill Quill later.

“Well,” Steve says, taking a step closer to him, “at least my students don’t leave class with broken bones.”

Tony stands up straighter at that, a sudden flare of rage heating in his chest. “Excuse me, what did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest.

He had to go there, didn’t he? Tony steps forward. He can feel his fingers itching to grab his wand from his pocket and knock Steve back on his feet. He likely would have done that if they were still in school. He should have done that when Steve made _that comment_ during their seventh year.

“Whoa, whoa, fellas!” Quill exclaims, standing up and moving in between them. “Let’s calm down, guys. Tony, I’m sorry that I spoke. Steve, I’m sorry that you heard.”

Silence. The tension in the room is sharp. Tony isn’t sure he’s ever had to fight the urge to duel someone so bad before.

“Okay,” says the dark-haired man, “now you two apologize.”

 _Who even is this guy?_ Tony crosses his arms, grumbling. He’d honestly rather duel with Voldemort than destroy his dignity by apologizing. But then, he does have to work with this asshole. And though he doesn’t enjoy the subject, Peter says Steve is one of his favorite professors. He wouldn’t put it below Steve to fail a student just because he doesn’t like the student’s dad. “I’m…sorry,” he mutters.

Steve smirks.

“No, no,” Quill says, shaking his finger at Steve. “You aren’t out of the woods yet, Rogers.”

Steve’s face falls immediately. He glances to his friend, who motions for him to go on. “I’m sorry, too,” he sighs.

“There ya go!” Quill shouts. “Now, please leave.”

“Wait, what?” Steve barely manages to say anything before Quill is shoving him and his friend out the door, slamming it shut behind them. He leans against the door and looks at Tony, a smug grin on his face. “Wow, that was close! For a second there I thought you were gonna use the Cruciatus Curse on each other!”

Tony purses his lips. “That, my friend, is the last time I tell you anything.” He turns to the trunks of Quidditch balls, preparing to polish the Golden Snitches inside. “By the way, who was that guy he was with?” He whips out a fine cloth from his coat, grabbing the first Snitch from the first trunk.

“Oh, that was James Barnes. Goes by Bucky. Durmstrang graduate and Steve Rogers’ best friend.” Quill stands, taking a pile of brooms to stack in one of the broom closets. “Rumor has it he is eyeing the Defense Against the Dark Arts position on the off chance that Natasha quits.”

“Do you really think she will?” Tony places the Snitch back in its socket, closing the trunk and setting it aside to start on the next one.

Quill shrugs. “I mean, it is tradition for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to only last one to three years in the position. Besides, if she doesn’t quit this year, she likely will before Peter graduates. And I’m sure Bucky will be right there to sweep the position up, no matter how long it takes.”

The fact that DADA professors come and go so quickly has always given Tony the creeps. It’s definitely not a fun subject to teach, but it _is_ extremely important. Wizards and witches need to know how to defend themselves in case another Dark Wizard rises. Still, the position has to be cursed. So why would anyone want to take a cursed job?

Tony reaches for the next trunk, popping the clasp and flipping it open. There’s a loud screech, and something comes flying out the trunk directly at Tony’s face. He ducks with a yelp. “Who the _fuck_ forgot to lock up the Bludger?”

Quill drops the next stack of brooms and hits the floor as the Bludger comes flying at him. “What the hell?”

“Don’t destroy it!” Tony shouts, watching as the Bludger slams into the brooms, bursts through a window, and comes flying back in before hitting a stack of broom polish. “Just stop it!”

“Yeah, how? It’s gonna knock our heads off!” Quill pulls out his wand and narrowly avoids the ball as it comes sailing toward his chest.

Tony watches the ball hit the cabinet of extra Keeper gear and knock over the Beater’s bats, heading directly for the shelf he’s hiding behind. He waits until it’s just about to pass him before he leaps out, grabbing the ball and landing hard on both the ball and ground, knocking the air from his chest. Tony struggles, but he manages to keep a firm grip on the ball and shove it back into its socket, locking it in and shutting the trunk in frustration.

Breathing heavily, Tony leans back against the shelf. Quill comes out from his hiding place. The storage shed is an absolute mess. The shelves that were hit are lying on the ground in a splintery mess, bottles of polish destroyed and dripping on the ground. Bits of broom are strewn around the shed. When Tony finds out which House team forgot to lock the Bludger up…

Quill takes a deep breath, putting his hands on his hips. “Well, it seems I’ve overstayed my welcome. Gamora wants me back at”—he glances at his wrist, which definitely doesn’t have a watch strapped to it—“now o’clock. Right now. Bye!” He waves and runs out the door.

“Dammit, Quill!” Tony shouts. He looks around at the mess and sighs. Looks like he’s in for a late night.

* * *

 

Peter glances in the dormitory mirror, straightening his dark grey practice Quidditch robes. The Quidditch mock tryouts have finally arrived. He practiced with his dad all throughout Christmas break, and since the semester started, he would run some drills with Shuri and another boy in his year named Rory on the weekends. The three of them were planning on walking down to the pitch together. Looking at his watch, he sees that it’s half an hour until 8 a.m. He gives himself another onceover in the mirror, grabs his broom from his bed, and heads to the common room. 

Shuri and Rory are there already, sitting on one of the couches. There’s a few other students out doing some early morning studying; a couple of them are in Quidditch robes also, brooms in hand. Peter is truly surprised that Rory, who usually sleeps until noon on weekends, managed to wake up so early. He looks exhausted; he definitely didn’t bother to comb his blonde bedhead into a presentable style.

“Good morning!” Shuri exclaims, standing and brushing off her purple robes. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I can be, I guess,” Peter shrugs. The three of them make their way to the door. It’s just shutting behind them when Peter turns and sees a figure leaning against a pillar, half asleep. “Dad?”

Tony jolts up, nearly losing his balance. “Peter, hey!” He walks over to the three of them, giving Peter a pat on the back. “Just wanted to see you off to tryouts!”

“Does Papa know you’re here?” Peter asks.

“No, he told me not to come because it might make you nervous.” Tony yanks Peter into a tight, lung-crushing hug. “But I had to wish my little boy luck!” He pulls back, keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Now then, your robes look good. Got all the necessary equipment?” Peter nods. “Goggles in case it starts raining?” Another nod. “Broom?”

Peter holds it up, smiling. “Definitely,” he says. After he revealed to Tony on Christmas Eve that he would be participating in the mock tryouts, Tony apparently went out and bought him a lastminute Christmas gift. His new Dragonfire 3000 broomstick is currently his most prized possession. It’s one of the hottest brooms on the market; it’s fast but extremely easy to maneuver; it also has some sort of new technology that lets it easily guide through wind resistance. The speed certainly took some getting used to, but now he’s sure that he will be the fastest one out there (unless someone has a Firebolt Supreme).

“Dad, you realize these are only mock tryouts, right?” Peter asks.

“Of course, but these are important, too. They’re looking for the best, and those are the players they’ll keep in mind when the real thing happens.” Tony smiles. “Just do your best and have fun! Also, don’t get hurt.”

Peter grins. “Thanks, Dad.” He gives Tony another quick hug and nods to his friends. The three of them start to walk off.

“Good luck!” Tony shouts again. Peter can’t help but turn around and give his eager dad a quick wave. Quidditch is definitely not something that he wants to do for a living, but he would love to try and do it for the remainder of his Hogwarts educational career.

* * *

 

“Morning, everyone!” the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, Fiona Martin, shouts. Everyone quiets down, focusing their attention on the red-headed sixth year in front of them. Standing behind her are the Seeker and Chaser that are graduating at the end of term: Olivia Campbell (a kind blonde girl who participates in the poetry slams almost every week) and Jack Thomas (a lad with jet black hair and bright blue eyes who will almost definitely become a professional Quidditch player after he graduates). “There’s been a change of plans.” 

That results in a wave of murmurs from the crowd. There’s probably about 30 kids, which is surprisingly less than Peter had expected.

“Rather than just trying out for Seeker and Chaser, you all can practice any position you would like. Except Keeper, of course,” she says with a smirk, tossing her red braid over her shoulder. It’s very rare that any Quidditch team has a female Keeper; however, just from the few matches Peter has seen her play, she definitely can’t be counted out just because she’s a girl. In fact, she’ll be leading the team to the Quidditch House Cup here in just a few weeks. (Peter’s heard that the Gryffindor Keeper is being trained hardcore to even come close to her rank).

Jack steps forward. “First up will be Chaser. We’ll warm up and run some practice drills. After that will be Beater, followed by Seeker. You aren’t required to participate in all of the tryouts for each position, but it’s highly recommended that you stay until the end.”

“I’ll be watching everyone,” Fiona says. “If I think you have no chance of making the team next year, you’ll be asked to leave.” Peter’s stomach drops; this is just _mock_ tryouts! How serious can they be? “At the end of the Seeker tryouts, those of you who remain will be split into teams. You’ll play a match so the three of us can see how you play in a real game.”

“Don’t forget, these are just mock tryouts. You aren’t guaranteed a position just because you make the cut today,” Olivia shouts. “Let’s get this started! Those of you participating in Chaser tryouts, head to the middle of the pitch. The rest of you start warming up!”

About twenty of the other students start walking toward the center of the field. Some look excited, others look nervous; Peter hopes he’s the former, not the later.

“Can you believe this?” Shuri exclaims. “I’m so ready for this!”

“Are you kidding?” Rory pipes in, his Irish accent deep. “I’ve never been more nervous in my entire life.”

Peter shrugs. “I just hope none of us get cut.”

Jack meets them in the middle and tells them to spread out. They start off with some quick leg and arm stretches before Jack tells them to mount their brooms.

Grinning, Peter swings his leg over the broom and hops up, soaring into the air. He flies up until he’s about even with the lowest goalpost. Shuri comes up beside him and squeals.

“Dang, you weren’t kidding when you said you were excited,” Peter chuckles.

Shuri flexes her arms and says in a deep voice, “Let’s go!”

Jack divides them up into three groups, telling them to form a single file line. Peter hovers in his line behind a couple of third years, watching as Jack flies up between them and the goalposts.

“Three at a time, you will fly up, pass the ball at least three times, and shoot a goal. Everyone in your group _must_ have the ball passed to them at least once. Any questions? It’ll make more sense once we get into it.”

Jack grins and tosses the Quaffle into the air. “First group, go!”

The first group must have some returning players. They easily pass the ball to each other at least five times before the last girl shoots it directly into the tallest goalpost. Jack cheers them on and calls forward the next group. Peter, who is in the right line, counts off the people in the center and left lines to find that he will be going with Shuri and a fourth year girl. He watches the next few groups ahead of them go, wincing when Rory misses the ball.

Finally, it’s his turn. Jack tosses him the ball, and he tilts his broom forward, moving with it. He quickly throws the ball to Shuri, who tosses it to the other girl. She throws it over Shuri’s head to Peter. They are inching closer to the goalposts, and he wants to show off his throwing arm to Fiona and the others. He stays further back and hurls the Quaffle directly into the center goalpost.

The students go through a couple more rounds before the first cuts are made. Peter had seen Fiona fly up to where Jack was stationed behind the goalposts catching the Quaffles, and they had been in deep discussion. Peter doesn’t know most of the nine students that are cut, but one of them is Rory (he kept dropping the Quaffle, despite doing great in their personal practice sessions). Peter glances over to Shuri, who grimaces. Jack has them complete a few more rounds before he calls time.

“Great job, everyone!” Fiona says as the group flies back to the ground. Peter lands gently, easily stepping off his broom as he waits for more instruction. “Now, it’s time for Beater. Luckily, we have both of our Beaters here with us, so they’ll be leading you. But I’ll be watching with Jack and Olivia, so don’t suck.”

Two students, who Peter recognizes instantly from watching Quidditch matches, step forward from the clump of hopefuls, gesturing for those interested in Beater to follow them. Peter walks over to Shuri, who is running her fingers through the bristles of her broom.

“Man, I feel bad for Rory,” Peter says.

“I know,” Shuri agrees, pursing her lips. “I mean, he did miss a few passes here and there during our practices, but he really was good.”

Peter shrugs. “I guess the pressure got to him.” He glances up, watching as the Beater hopefuls dodge the Bludgers while trying to listen to the two leaders. “Wanna go watch from up there?” Peter asks, gesturing toward the sky. Shuri nods with a smile, and together they mount their brooms and take off.

As they’re flying up, however, something bright catches the sunlight, flashing in Peter’s eyes. He puts his hand up and shields his eyes, blinking a few times. _What was that?_ He tries to lower his hand again, but the glint of gold light is still there. Curiosity gets the better of him; he angles his broom toward the light.

“Where are you going?” Shuri asks.

“Investigating!” Peter responds.

He tilts his broom down slightly, picking up speed. Maybe it’s the wind blowing through his hair, but he swears he can hear the sound of buzzing. The light suddenly disappears. Peter slows down, scanning the sky before spotting the light again near the stands. He flies forward faster, sneaking up on the light and reaching toward it. It makes to move again, but Peter wills his Dragonfire broomstick to go faster. _Come on, faster, faster, fast—_

Peter throws his hand out again, grabbing a small, shiny object. Mentally giving himself a pat on the back, Peter opens his hand to find… _The Golden Snitch._

Well, shoot. Who decided it was a good idea to leave a Snitch floating around the pitch on mock tryout day? Peter flies over to Fiona, who is floating with Jack and Olivia watching the Beater tryouts.

“Hey, Fiona?” Peter says as he approaches.

She glances over to him. “Yeah?”

Peter holds out the Snitch. “I think someone must’ve left this Snitch buzzing around. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

Something flashes through her eyes; Peter thinks it’s shock? Awe? Amazement? “Oh, well, thank you for bringing it back.”

Peter salutes and starts to turn his broom to fly back to Shuri when Fiona says, “Hey, kid! What was your name again?” He tells her, and she nods with a smile. “Thanks, mate!”

He and Shuri remain in the air, joking and laughing and watching their fellow Ravenclaws try to avoid being _taken out_ by the mad Bludgers (though there are a couple of times when one would come too close to them for comfort). It’s not long after that that Fiona makes a couple of cuts and blows her whistle, announcing that Seeker tryouts are about to begin. Shuri wishes Peter luck and flies back down to the ground.

As Peter approaches Fiona and her posse, he counts only four other students trying out for Seeker. Maybe that means the odds will be better for him.

“Well, before we begin, I need to congratulate one of you for already proving yourself worthy to me.” Fiona holds up the Snitch that Peter gave her. “Prior to the start of mock try outs, Olivia and I released three Golden Snitches into the air. It wouldn’t be fair if we released them now because it would be easier to catch them that way. What I didn’t expect, however, was for one of you”—she gestures to Peter—“to spot one of the Snitches before I even had the chance to tell you about them.” She flashes Peter a smile. “Congrats, Stark-Strange. We’re very impressed.”

Happiness, and a bit of pride, well up inside Peter. He can’t help but grin.

“Okay, everyone!” Olivia shouts. “There are still two Golden Snitches floating around here. Your goal is to be the first person to spot one. Doesn’t matter if you catch it. We’re looking for fast reactions, people. Stark-Strange has already got a leg up on the rest of you. Now then, spread out and keep your eyes open!”

Peter is about to fly off and find a good spot when Olivia waves him over. He flies that way. “Hey Peter, we’re really impressed with you already. You are more than welcome to participate again if you want, but if not, you can take a break before the scrimmage.”

With a smile, Peter says, “Thanks, but I’d like to see who my competition is.”

Olivia nods. “I understand. Good luck, mate!”

Peter leans forward and flies off, finding a good spot above the professor’s observation box. He puts a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun, watching for that now familiar gold glint of light. He’s already extremely proud of the way he’s been performing today. Heck, he got a complement from the captain herself. And on top of that, he’s been having so much fun.

Quidditch is definitely his extracurricular calling.

* * *

 

Peter is just rounding the corner to Ravenclaw Tower with Shuri, brooms still in hand, when Peter spots Tony, an eager smile on his face, along with Stephen.

“Oh, both your dads are here now! They must really want you to play,” Shuri notes.

“Well, I’m not sure about Papa, but Dad definitely does. He was a professional Quidditch player for some thirteen years,” Peter shrugs. “I’m surprised he didn’t find a way to sneak into tryouts.” As they approach, Shuri sneaks off to the common room, leaving Peter alone with his dads.

Stephen straightens from where he was leaning against the wall, draping an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Tony looks like he might explode with curiosity. “Peter, my son! How did tryouts go?”

Peter feels a bit of pride flare up in his chest. “Really, really well.” He gives his dads a quick rundown of the entire morning. How he did well as a Chaser, how he apparently passed a Seeker test well before the other students had a chance to. He talks about how when Seeker tryouts actually started, he was the second one to spot a Golden Snitch. When they were done, Fiona and the others made cuts until there were only fourteen students left. They then divided everyone up into two teams; Peter had noticed he was placed on the team with people he thought did the best that day, including Shuri. Peter had been the one to catch the Snitch, earning his team a win. By the time he’s done relaying the tryouts, their expressions have changed from anxious to proud. Tony actually looks like he has tears in his eyes.

“It sounds like you had a lot of fun this morning, Peter,” Stephen says.

Tony lets out a fake sob, putting a hand over his mouth. “My little baby is all grown up, playing Quidditch like his father before him.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “We’re very proud of you, Peter.”

“Extremely proud,” Tony says. He holds out his arms. “Bring it in.” With a smile, Peter gladly gives in to his dad’s wishes, his parents’ embrace warm, loving, homey.

“So,” Tony starts, pulling back from the group hug, “what’s next? Do you have practice now?”

Peter sighs. “Dad, these were just mock tryouts. I won’t actually try out until next year.”

Tony nods. “Right, I forgot. In any case, just get ready because I’ll be training you hard this summer. I’m talking conditioning exercises, weightlifting, flying…”

As Tony continues rambling about proper athletic diets and finding real Bludgers to use to practice dodging, Peter looks to Stephen, silently pleading for help. Stephen winks and clears his throat.

“Um, Tony darling, Peter probably has some homework he needs to work on. We should leave him to it.”

“Right!” Tony exclaims. “There’s only a couple of months left until summer break, so push through!” He pulls his son into another quick hug. “I’ll probably be floating around the Quidditch storage shed this evening if you need anything, son.”

“Don’t forget to practice your Knockback Jinx,” Stephen adds, giving Peter an embrace of his own. “I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

With one final goodbye, his dads turn and head back to Stephen’s office, their hands intertwined. Peter clutches his broom a little tighter, a bit of nervousness still in his chest, and he walks over to the eagle door knocker, waiting for the riddle.

And the eagle gives him a riddle.

And Peter has absolutely no idea what the answer is.

“Come on, I’m tired, and I want to shower,” he complains. He realizes he probably looks like an idiot complaining to a bronze statue.

The eagle almost smiles back at him, repeating the riddle again.

“Ugh!” Peter tosses his broom to the ground, leaning against the wall and sliding down until his bum hits the floor. He could be stuck out here for minutes, or until dinnertime. He just has to hope that someone leaves the common room soon.

Ten minutes pass.

Thirty.

At forty-five minutes, Peter is completely bored out of his mind. He supposes he could go to the Great Hall for lunch, but he knows he smells horrible from all the sweating he did while playing Quidditch. He doesn’t have any of his books to go to the library. He’s pretty much…stuck.

“Peter?”

Peter’s head shoots up, finding a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy staring back at him, wearing jeans and a red sweater. “Wade.”

Wade smirks. “You stuck out here? I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to know the answers to all the riddles.”

Shrugging, Peter says, “I was bound to get stumped sooner or later. I’m just surprised no one has left to go study at the library or something.”

Wade sighs. “Yeah, the one time I’ve been to the library, it was full of Ravenclaws.”

Butterflies flutter in Peter’s stomach. He wants to talk to Wade. He really, truly does. Those hours that he spent with him in detention were so fun; he almost feels like he could tell Wade anything. But… He remembers Flash, and that night in the hall… He can still feel the rough way he was thrown against the wall, thrown to the ground. He shouldn’t be talking to Wade…

Wade clears his throat. “Hey, um, do you mind if I—”

At that moment, the Ravenclaw Tower door swings open, and a couple of seventh year girls come sauntering out. Peter thanks his lucky stars; he doesn’t have to tell Wade that he wants to talk to him, but he can’t.

Peter quickly stands, grabbing his broom in one hand and the door with the other. He turns back to Wade, catching what looks like a glimpse of annoyance and disappointment in his eyes before the emotions are gone. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Wade takes a deep breath. “Um, never mind.” He chuckles lightly, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder. “Go shower, mate. You stink.” Wade turns on his heel, heading back down the hall to wherever he was going initially.

Peter watches him go, staring at the spot where Wade turned the corner. Pursing his lips, he walks inside and heads to his dormitory. He tosses his broom on the bed, grabbing a fresh set of clothes and a towel and heading to the small bathroom connected to his dorm.

It’s a tiny bathroom, that’s for sure. There are five sinks, five showers, and five toilets, not nearly enough for the ten other boys that Peter shares a dormitory with; Peter supposes that’s because the average class size per House at Hogwarts has increased from five during Harry Potter’s days to at least ten now.

Luckily, all of the showers are open. He grabs his toiletries from the shelf he shares with his classmates, turns on the hot water, strips down, and steps inside.

As the water runs through his hair and down his back, he can’t help but think about Wade’s expression as they said goodbye. What did that flash of disappointment mean? He wishes he knew… And he wishes he could talk to Wade, maybe even be his friend. There’s something about being with Wade that makes his worries wither away. But every time he thinks about it, Peter remembers Flash’s threat; how if he even associates with Slytherin students, he’d be sorry.

Peter closes his eyes, frustration bubbling up inside him as he slams his fist against the stone wall. He supposes he’ll have to continue to stay away from Wade and any other Slytherins.

But even the thought of that is eating him up inside.

* * *

 

Peter straightens his Ravenclaw tie, walking as quickly as possible toward the Great Hall.

It’s time for the End of Year Feast. Peter truly can’t believe his first year of Hogwarts went by so quickly. He passed all of his finals with flying colors (as was expected, considering he stayed at the library practically all night studying with Shuri, MJ, and Ned). He had just been working on packing his things to head home the next day when he realized he only had about fifteen minutes before the feast started. He knows his dads will be there, so he definitely can’t be late. The halls are empty, though, meaning he’ll likely be one of the last people in the Great Hall.

He’s just passing Flitch’s office when he hears quiet whispers. He stops, his brow furrowing.

“Psst! Over here!”

Peter blinks. In this hall, there’s several doors on one side and a wall with giant glassless windows and an entrance to one of Hogwarts’ many courtyards on the other; he swears he heard a voice coming from a bush in the courtyard near one of the windows. He quietly steps toward the voice he heard, apprehensive. He is just peering over one of the windows when two hairs of hands shoot out from the darkness, grabbing him and pulling him over the wall.

He’s about to scream when a hand clamps over his mouth. “Shut it, mate! We just saved your sorry ass.”

Peter blinks as his eyes adjust to the darkness and shoves the hand off his mouth. There are two boys sitting in front of him who look to be about his age. He recognizes both of them from class. One is dressed in Slytherin robes, a boy with olive skin, dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a seemingly permanent smirk on his face. The other is a Hufflepuff with light skin, sandy blonde hair, and green eyes that glow in the moonlight.

“Um, who are you guys?” Peter whispers.

“Wow, Peter, I’m offended you don’t recognize me from Potions and Transfiguration. The name’s Rocket,” says the Slytherin boy. “My baby-faced accomplice here is Groot.”

The Hufflepuff—Groot—gasps and gives Rocket a shove. “I am not baby-faced,” he huffs.

“Dude, you’ve had the exact same face since we were six. You do have a baby face.”

Peter shakes his head. What has he gotten himself into now? “Okay, why did you just yank me over a wall?”

“Oh, right.” Rocket points up to the top of the giant door at the end of the hall—the doors Peter was just about to walk through to get to the Great Hall. “See that large brown ball at the top of that doorway? That’s a Dungbomb Extreme, an invention of my own creation. This hall is almost never used, considering it’s the long way to the Great Hall, so I decided to pull one last prank on Flitch before summer. You were walking right into our trap. We practically saved your life,” Rocket says, punching Peter’s arm with a grin.

Peter opens his mouth to say something, coming up with an excuse to get away from this Slytherin boy before Flash Thompson can find out, before Groot shushes him, gesturing to Flitch’s office. The ancient Hogwarts caretaker who must be at least one hundred years old by now stumbles out of his office, Mrs. Norris III right behind him; his dads have said that this is definitely the cutest cat that Flitch has ever had, but with its bony legs and thin grey hair, Peter doesn’t know how that’s possible.

“Come on, Mrs. Norris, let’s get this over with,” Flitch gripes, locking his office door. The cat lets out a scratchy meow and rubs her head against Flitch’s legs. Peter wants to vomit.

“Here we go,” Rocket whispers, his voice shaking with excitement.

Peter watches as Flitch approaches the doors. Flitch yanks them open, triggering the Dungbomb Extreme to fall. It lands directly on Flitch’s head, exploding with a large puff of brown air. Flitch lets out several expletives as the brown cloud fades away, and Peter realizes that whatever was in that Dungbomb Extreme released a brown slime; Flitch is covered in it.

“Who did this?” Flitch yells. “I’ll have you expelled!” He starts running around the hall, checking in all the dark corners as Mrs. Norris III paws at her ooze-covered snout.

It’s when Flitch starts to head their direction that Peter realizes they’re in trouble. Rocket snickers and slaps Peter’s arm. “We gotta go, mate!” Peter struggles to his feet as Rocket and Groot take off across the courtyard. He’s right on their tails as they burst through another set of doors across the yard and continue running until they get to the Great Hall.

They all stand there for a second, the only sounds being their heavy breathing and the chattering echoing from the Great Hall. Peter straightens, taking one look at these boys in front of him before he bursts out laughing. Rocket and Groot look to each other, then back at Peter before they too start to laugh. They laugh until they’re clutching their stomachs, struggling for air, and have tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Did you see his face?” Rocket wheezes. “That was classic.”

“But we could make it better,” Peter suggests. “Have you ever thought about adding Stink Pellets or Belch Powder to the Dungbomb?”

Rocket’s laughing ceases. He runs a hand through his hair and says, “No, I haven’t. That's actually an interesting thought!” He gives Peter a slap on the back. “I like you, Stark-Strange. We should hang out again next year.”

Peter grins. “First, though, we gotta get to this feast. My dads will ground me for the summer if I’m late.”

Rocket grimaces. “Seriously?”

“They say it’ll ruin their reputation among their peers, whatever that means,” Peter says with a shrug.

“That sucks. Okay, mate, we’ll see you next year! Thanks for making trouble with us!”

“Have a great summer!” Groot says.

Peter grins. “Bye.” He walks into the Great Hall, leaving the two troublemakers behind (Rocket had said something about wanting to see Flitch scampering through the halls like a maniac), and Peter practically sprints over to the packed Ravenclaw table, finding a spot by Ned. He glances up to the front of the room and sees Tony and Stephen, questioning looks on their faces; he supposes he’ll have to explain himself later.

But he can’t even think about that because he can’t stop smiling. That one short joyride he had with Rocket and Groot was easily the most fun he’s had in the last month. He knows that Rocket is a Slytherin, and he hopes that Flash doesn’t hear about this little adventure. However, he can’t even think about that right now.

Peter really hopes that he crosses paths with Rocket and Groot again in the future. Part of him wants to know what other kinds of trouble the two of them have caused together. Another part of him just wants to ask if Rocket and Groot are their real names.

As McGonagall stands to address the students, Peter thinks back on his first year. He’s already gained so much knowledge about magic. He’s made friendships he knows will last a lifetime. He’s done well in his classes and has great relationships with all of his professors (except Professor Romanov, but she really keeps to herself). He’s met people who he doesn’t know that well, but who he’d really, really like to try to know in the future. (He blushes as Wade’s bright blue eyes flash in his mind).

If his first year was this successful, who knows what’s in store for his second year?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at slytherinironstrange.tumblr.com!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter officially makes new friends. Stephen and Tony are introduced to new Muggle Technology. Also, it's time for a Quidditch match!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the next saga of this Harry Potter AU: Peter's second year! Thanks to my cousin Victoria for helping me get out of my state of writer's block.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Peter hugs Tony and Stephen one last time, beaming as he heads to the _Hogwarts Express_. He’s got May under one arm and a bag of snacks in the other. 

He’d practically begged his dads to let him ride the train this year. Turns out they were right when they said he’d want to take the Hogwarts Express back to school; he was so excited to see his friends that he couldn’t contain himself.

His summer was a lot of fun. He’d had a talk with Tony about Quidditch, saying his dad can train him if he wanted, but only a couple of times a week. So, that’s just what Tony did. He and his dads went out a lot, sometimes just to visit his grandparents or to make a quick run to Diagon Alley just to window shop (and if they stopped at Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop for bags of candy each time, who really noticed?). He celebrated his 12th birthday on June 1st surrounded by his family. Peter also wrote to his friends as often as he could. Near the end of the summer, however, he found himself missing his school. Did he miss the homework? Absolutely not. What he missed were the nights that he, Ned, and the other boys in his dorm would stay up, telling stories about their home lives and playing Exploding Snap and laughing. He missed MJ’s sarcasm and crude jokes. He missed Shuri’s enthusiastic attitude. He missed visiting his dads in Stephen’s office on the weekends and ranting about his homework and his classes.

Hogwarts truly is his second home.

Climbing onto the train, he narrowly avoids a group of kids running down the already very crammed hallway. He takes a left, and several compartments later, he spots Shuri in a room with an older boy in a Gryffindor Quidditch sweater who looks almost exactly like her.

“Hey, Shuri!” Peter exclaims, stepping inside and taking a spot on the right bench by the window.

“Good to see you, Peter!” Shuri says, grinning. “I don’t think you’ve met my brother. This is T’Challa. T’Challa, this is Peter. His dads are Professor Stark and Professor Strange.”

The boy—T’Challa—holds out his hand. Peter grips it and gives it a couple of quick shakes. “So you’re the boy my sister wouldn’t shut up about this summer. Nice to finally be able to put a name to a face.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” Peter pulls his hand back with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Just waiting for my friends to show up.” T’Challa impatiently glances out the window. “I’m not sure when they are arriving.”

“He doesn’t have any friends,” Shuri laughs, earning a slap on the arm from T’Challa.

At that moment, a tall, blonde boy walks by the window. T’Challa grabs his things, saying, “Sorry, just saw my friends arrive! Hopefully there’s at least one compartment open.” He throws open the doors and takes off to the right. Peter hears him call out, “Nice to meet you, Peter!”

MJ steps into the compartment, a confused look on her face. “Okay, either that was your brother or your long-lost twin,” she says.

Shuri grins. “That’s T’Challa! He just spotted his imaginary friends.”

MJ laughs, taking a seat by Peter. The three of them start chatting, telling stories of their summer breaks and the vacations they took. Ned walks in eventually, and he easily joins in on the conversation. The four friends don’t even notice when the train lurches forward, beginning their journey to Hogwarts.

They also don’t notice the two boys standing outside their compartment door staring directly at Peter.

The door is thrown open, causing Peter and the others to jump. For a second, he doesn’t recognize the tan boy or the baby-faced lad next to him. Suddenly, memories of the End of Year Feast come rushing to the front of his mind, especially the putrid smell of a specific Dungbomb Extreme...

“Rocket? Groot?” Peter asks.

“Pete, my man!” Rocket exclaims. He and Groot make their way inside, Rocket sitting by Ned and Groot by MJ. “How was your summer?”

“Great! Way too short if you ask—“

“Hold it,” Shuri says. “Who are you guys?”

Rocket turns to her with a grin. “Name’s Rocket.”

“I am Groot,” the other boy says. 

“Peter went on a troublemaking escapade with us at the end of last year,” Rocket says. “Now he’s practically part of our group.”

“Excuse me,” MJ starts, “but what the hell kind of names are Rocket and Groot?”

Rocket turns to her. “Listen here—uh—what’s your name?”

“MJ,” she says, her brow furrowing.

“Ah, MJ. Probably a nickname, stands for Michelle for something like that,” Rocket says. “That’s a cool name. See, Groot and I were cursed by our parents with the most horrific names imaginable. Groot’s mom and dad and my moms have known each other for years, so we’re convinced they came up with the evil plan that is our names together.”

MJ laughs. “Oh, come on, your names can’t be that bad.”

Rocket leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “You wanna bet, sweetcheeks?”

“It can’t be as terrible as Rodney or something.”

Rocket maintains his position, silent.

“Oh Merlin, his name is Rodney!” Peter exclaims, busting out into laughter. The others follow suit, cackling as Rocket-Rodney pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, we’re just kidding, mate,” Peter says, reaching across MJ to give Rocket a slap on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, just watch yourself, Stark-Strange. You might end up with one of those Dungbomb Extremes in your trunk,” Rocket huffs.

Shuri points to Groot. “So what’s your real name, then?”

Groot glances to Rocket, who shrugs. “Yours isn’t nearly as bad as mine. Might as well share it.”

With a sigh, Groot says, “My name is Godric.”

A moment of silence passes before MJ says, “Yeah, I’d rather be named Godric than Rodney. At least he shares a name with a Hogwarts founder.”

Rocket scoffs. “I feel the same way, sweetcheeks.”

It’s after that when Peter finally introduces the others to Rocket and Groot. The two troublemakers stay in their compartment, talking and laughing about stories from their summer as well as stories from the previous school year. (Apparently, Rocket pissed Professor Rogers off so much that he almost started crying from frustration.) Rocket tells the story of their daring prank on Flitch that Peter just happened to stumble into, and how they were going to do it even more this year. (“You’d best believe we’re making more Dungbombs this year, Stark-Strange. My moms made the grave mistake of taking me to Weasley’s Wizard Whizzes over the summer. I’m the reason they’re sold out of Belch Powder until further notice.”)

It feels like no time has passed at all before the Prefects are walking around the train announcing that they’ll be at Hogwarts within the hour and that it’s time to change into their robes. MJ and Shuri grab theirs and head to the girls’ changing rooms near the front of the train. Ned bundles up his own robes and turns to Peter and the others. “You coming, Pete?”

Peter nods. “I’ll be right there.”

Ned shrugs and heads to the back of the train. Rocket and Groot are about to follow him when Peter reaches out and clutches Rocket’s arm. “Can I talk to you?”

Rocket’s brow furrows. “Okay, sure. What’s up?” he asks as he and Groot sit back down.

“Um, I’m not really sure how to put this.” Peter begins wringing his hands, a bout of nervousness hitting him. He’d thought about this over the summer since their daring escapade with Flitch before the End of Year Feast. “Rocket, I want to be your friend. I really do.”

“Yeah, I wanna be your friend, too,” the boy shrugs. “What’s the problem?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s just, there’s a Slytherin who for some reason is out to get me.” Peter shudders at the memory that night in the hall after he’d left the library. “He keeps threatening me, saying I shouldn’t hang out with Slytherins or I’d be sorry.”

Rocket’s eyes narrow. “Wait, are you talking about Flash Thompson?”

Peter almost flinches at even the mention of the name, but he nods. He briefly recalls that night to Rocket and Groot; it’s something he hasn’t even told Ned about.

“Listen, mate,” Rocket scoffs when Peter is finished, “Flash is usually all bark and no bite. The fact that he had the nerve to do that to you, that pisses me off. Look, I wanna be your friend. I ain’t gonna let that kid stop me. I’ll have a word with Squish Flopson, and he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Peter laughs at the silly nickname. “But you’re younger than him. You’re in my year, and he’s a year older than us.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve pulled so many pranks in the Slytherin common room that I’m pretty sure half of Slytherin either hates me or are terrified of me.” The corner of Rocket’s lip curls up. “For real, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. Next thing you know, we’ll be eating all our meals together and hanging out every weekend.” Rocket leans forward and pats Peter’s arm. “Now come on, let’s go get changed. The last thing I want is my Prefect telling your dad I wasn’t ready for the Welcome Feast on time.”

Nodding, Peter reaches into his bag, pulling out his black robes accented with Ravenclaw blue; he couldn’t believe it, but he’d actually missed wearing his school robes. Once Rocket and Groot have their robes in hand, the three of them make their way to the back of the train, Rocket leading their trio. As they’re walking, Peter feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns toward Groot, who has a grin on his face.

“Rocket’s right, you know.”

Peter steps closer to the side of the train as a group of older girls head to the opposite side of the train. “What do you mean?”

“He really will talk to Flash, so you can be his friend without feeling threatened.” Groot grins. “That’s the thing about Rocket. He may be an arrogant arsehole who is always getting into trouble, but he’s the best friend you could have. He protects those he cares about.”

Peter grins, partially because he knows that Groot is right and partially because this is the most he’s ever heard Groot say in one sitting (even though they’re technically still walking). “Thanks,” he says, flashing Groot a smile.

It’s as he turns back around that he notices he’s about to run directly into someone. He barely has time to try to get out of the way before he slams hard into another body. A wand goes flying into the air as they topple to the ground, Peter landing hard on his back and the other student falling on top of him.

For a second, neither of them move. Peter groans as pain ricochets down his spine. It must have been a sight to see: two students with robes and clothes and wands strewn on the floor around them. Peter opens his eyes. There’s a head of blonde hair laying on his torso, Slytherin green robes on the boy’s shoulders. Finally, the other boy lifts his head.

Peter would recognize those ice blue eyes and that long, jagged scar on his cheek anywhere.

“Wade?!” Peter exclaims.

There’s a glimmer in Wade’s eyes; he’s gawking at Peter as though he can’t believe they’ve managed to run into each other again. Then, his head shakes slightly, seemingly like he’s coming back to his senses. “Oh shit, Peter, I’m so sorry!” he says, rolling off the boy and rising to his feet. He holds out a hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

Peter stares at Wade’s outstretched hand. He can feel a blush rising to his cheeks, and he tries his best to withhold it. What was it about this blonde haired Slytherin that made him feel this way, made him lose all sense of thought? He sits up, raising his hand toward Wade’s. He actually can’t believe that their fingers are so close—

“There you are, Pete!” Rocket’s booming voice snaps Peter out of his thoughts, causing both him and Wade to jump. Rocket practically pushes Wade out of the way and pulls Peter to his feet himself. He grabs Peter’s wrist and starts to yank him forward. “Come on, we gotta go before the changing rooms are full!”

Turning over his shoulder, Peter locks eyes with Wade, who is smirking.

“Will I actually see you again this year, Peter?” Wade asks, his voice almost becoming lost over the chatter of their fellow students.

Remembering what Rocket had said earlier, how he’d soon be practically free to talk to whomever he wanted, he shouts back, “I hope so!”

Peter has no idea that Wade is gazing at the back of his head, watching him until he disappears among the students in the cramped compartment hallways.

* * *

 

Stephen turns and locks the Charms classroom door, grateful that the week is finally over.

They’re about three weeks into classes this term. And so far, it’s been an absolute nightmare. He isn’t sure what’s going on with the first-year students this year, but they are _terrible._ Stephen’s just finished a three-hour long session of detention with fourteen students from all four Houses. Normally, he would have students clean the classroom or the storage room, but there were far too many students for that. He ended up having them write sentences for the duration of their punishment. And during that session, some of the students tried to talk, which resulted in Stephen taking points from both Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

He just wants to go home and have a nice, relaxing weekend with Tony. They’d talked about going to Hogsmeade with Quill and Gamora and getting drunk on firewhiskey and Berry Ocky Rot; it had been quite some time since he’d gotten blackout wasted, so that could be fun. (Plus, Tony always becomes very cuddly and clingy when he gets drunk, and Stephen is all about it.)

Arriving at his office, he mutters the password (“Daisyroot Draught”) to the wizard in the portrait by the door. He steps inside, closes the door behind him, turns, and nearly screams.

He wasn’t expecting to see Tony sitting on the couch in his office, arms crossed and head resting on his chest, a light snore coming from the man. Stephen grins, walking over to his husband and lightly shaking his shoulder. “Tony, wake up, dear.”

Tony’s eyes shoot open, his breathing cutting off mid-snore. “What? I wasn’t asleep.”

Stephen chuckles. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to wait up for you,” Tony smiles, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Stephen’s.

Stephen smiles into the kiss, his hands reaching up to cup the back of Tony’s neck. Tony moves down, planting kisses on Stephen’s jawline, his neck, his collarbone. “Well, I appreciate it, love,” he says, giggling when Tony sucks on the ticklish spot on his neck.

“It’s been a long week,” Tony says after pulling away. “So, I used that telephone that Quill installed for us and ordered some Chinese food! I picked it up, and it’s waiting at home.”

“Did you get Szechuan chicken?” Stephen asks.

“Of course. And hot and sour soup,” Tony confirms.

Stephen smiles. He’s always had a taste for all things spicy, and he absolutely fell in love with those dishes when they went on that double date with Quill and Gamora. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get home!”

Tony laughs as Stephen tugs him from the couch toward the green flames in the fire place. Stephen grabs some Floo powder, steps into the flames, and shouts, “Stephen Strange’s home!” before throwing the powder to the ground. The green fire shoots up around him, and he feels a sudden gust of air before he’s roughly spit out of the fireplace at their home, Fury’s barking greeting him.

And he swears he hears voices.

“Holy shit, Stephen, you weren’t supposed to be home yet!”

Stephen sits up, brow furrowing. “Quill?” There’s a sudden commotion from the fireplace behind him, and he has no time to get out of the way before Tony comes shooting out of the flames, knocking into Stephen and sending him flying forward.

“That was graceful as hell.” He turns and spots Gamora sitting on their couch, her brown skin gleaming in the lamplight, as well as an odd, artificially bright light. Quill is sitting next to her, the same light on him. His eyes flick over to the wall parallel to the couch, and he sees an odd rectangle on the wall displaying a series of moving images, similar to the photographs they have around the room of Peter.

“Wait, is that a—”

“Welcome to the 21st century, my friends!” Quill holds his arms wide, smiling. “You’ve got your first television!”

“And it’s a good one, too,” Gamora pipes up. “60 inches, high definition.”

Stephen is really confused as to what is happening. He turns to Tony and, despite seeing the shock on his face, quietly asks, “Did you know about this?”

Tony shakes his head. “Yeah, um, what gave you the idea that you could come into our home and install Muggle technology without permission?”

Gamora rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn, Stark. Besides, having a TV could be really beneficial to your family.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony asks, rising to his feet before helping Stephen to his. “How so?”

“For starters, the news is always important,” Quill says. “You may live in a wizarding village, but you also live in England. It might be helpful to know what’s going on in the world.”

“Also, movies,” Gamora adds. “There’s a plethora of movies out there of all kinds. Comedy, drama, horror, action, animated. Peter would really like the animated ones, that’s for sure.”

Stephen shakes his head. “Um, no he won’t because he’s not going to get to see it. You need to take it down.”

“Come on,” Quill says, rolling his eyes. “At least give it a chance? If in a month you still feel the same way, I’ll come take it out. But then you’ll have to explain the two new holes where I mounted it in the wall to Peter.”

Stephen does consider it. Quill and Gamora are two of his best friends; he knows they wouldn’t steer them in the wrong direction. Besides, he felt the same way about the telephone, and now he’s convinced both his parents and his in-laws, two strict, pureblooded families, to get one. He looks to Tony, who sighs and sends him a silent _sure._

“Okay, fine, we’ll give it a chance,” Stephen says. “But we have no idea how to use it.”

“That’s where we come in!” Gamora says, a grin on her face. “We got Chinese too, so we can show you over dinner.”

And that’s how Stephen’s night went from relaxing to almost chaotic. After casting a heating spell to reheat their food (“Wow, this is so much better than a microwave!” Quill exclaimed), Quill and Gamora explained everything to them as they ate. Turns out that whatever television provider they hooked them up with has over one thousand channels on it. Apparently, it’s not free, but Quill and Gamora said that it’s a better deal to have two separate networks on one account, so they wouldn’t have to worry about payment. (“It’s like a buy one, get one half off kind of deal,” Gamora said.) Stephen insisted, however, that they’ll pay them back if they decide to keep it. Several hours, lots of Chinese food, and two bottles of red wine later, Stephen and Tony are trained and ready to try out their new TV on their own.

“Okay, so to turn it on, I press the button that has a circle with a line going through it,” Stephen says. Gamora nods, and Stephen does so. The TV lights up, displaying a screen with a picture of Niagara Falls.

“Then he’ll press ‘OK’ to turn on the receiver,” Tony adds. Quill says yes, and Stephen hits the correct button. The screen shows a loading image, and then a news channel appears on screen.

“So now, if we want to see what else is on, we hit the ‘Guide’ button?” Stephen asks, pressing the button, a menu pops up. “And we use the ‘Channel’ arrows to scroll through.”

Gamora claps enthusiastically. “You got it!”

“Those are the basics,” Quill says, jotting something down on a notepad. “And, done!” He tears the paper off, placing it on the coffee table. “So this has a recap of the remote basics. It also has some of the channels we recommend, like the news and movie channels. I also included a surprise in there,” Quill adds, winking.

Grabbing the paper, Gamora reads through the list. Suddenly, her jaw drops, and she glares daggers at Quill. “Peter Jason Quill, did you seriously include an _adult_ channel?” Quill busts out laughing as Stephen and Tony look to each other in confusion.

“What’s so funny about that?” Tony asks. “We’re adults.”

“I know, it’s just,” Gamora sighs, “it’s a channel that shows porn at night.”

Tony clears his throat. “Um, what’s porn?”

Quill gasps. “Wait, you’re telling me that there’s no porn in the wizarding world?”

Gamora rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding me, Peter? Half the wizarding community still doesn’t use electricity. What makes you think they have porn?”

“Porn, how do I describe porn?” Quill asks, stroking his chin (clearly for dramatic effect; whatever this porn thing was, it’s serious).

“Okay, I’ll tell them, you immature brat,” Gamora says, sending Quill into another fit of laughter. “Porn is when people record themselves having sex and post it online.”

Stephen blinks. He looks at Tony, who seems to be in shock. “Why would you do that?” Stephen asks. “Sex is something intimate and unique. It’s a special bonding moment for your partner’s eyes and your partner’s eyes only.” He smiles at Tony, who takes his hand, intertwining his fingers with Stephen’s own. “Why would you want to share something so special with the world?”

Gamora looks like she might actually cry; instead, she turns to Quill, still laughing hysterically beside her, and slaps him on the arm. “Why don’t you talk about me like that?!” She grabs the pen and scratches something off the list. “No porn channel for you lovebirds.”

Quill sighs. “Well now that my wife is mad at me, I guess it’s time for us to head home. We need to relieve the babysitter.”

“Yeah, my Muggle sister can only take so much of our magic kid,” Gamora laughs. She stands, grabbing her purse. “Call us if you have any issues with the TV.”

Stephen and Tony stand, hugging their friends goodbye before they Floo back to their house. The news channel plays quietly in the background as they’re cleaning up the mess from dinner; Stephen gathers the trash as Tony washes the dishes.

“That was a nice thing you said earlier,” Tony says, setting a dish in drying rack.

“About what?” Stephen asks. He finishes putting away the leftover Chinese food, tossing the takeout containers in the trash can.

Tony shuts off the water, drying his hands on a dish towel. “About sex. Intimacy.”

Stephen chuckles. “Well, I certainly meant every word of it.”

“I know you did,” Tony says, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I feel the same way. I love you.”

“And I love you.” With a smile, Stephen leans down and presses his lips to Tony’s. He feels Tony wrap his arms around Stephen’s waist, gently pulling him closer until their bodies touched. That was something he always loved about being with Tony; the fact that their bodies fit together so perfectly, each divot and nook and cranny in their bodies was touched so intimately by the other’s body, almost like a puzzle.

Stephen may have had the most stressful workweek ever, thanks to his students, but on this night, as he and Tony move across the house to the bedroom, as clothes are discarded to the floor and skin touches skin, Stephen doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.

* * *

 

Peter grabs a container of broom wax from the shelf in the common area locker room, finding a spot near the corner. He sits, laying his Dragonfire broomstick on his lap. Dipping a fresh washcloth into the wax, he gets to work waxing the handle of his broom.

It’s mid-November, and Ravenclaw’s second game of the Hogwarts Quidditch season. It’s a game against Gryffindor, who dominated Slytherin in their most recent match. Peter should be excited, thrilled even, to face off against such a great team with a fantastic group of teammates at his side (even if they had lost the first game against Hufflepuff).

The catch? Peter technically isn’t on the team.

Despite doing excellent at mock tryouts during his first year, despite training with his dad (who had played on England’s Quidditch team for the Quidditch World Cup as a Chudley Cannons representative a number of times), he had slipped up during the real deal. His head just wasn’t in the game during tryouts, and as a result, he hadn’t made the team.

But, just when Peter thought all hope was lost, just as he began thinking about his mistakes and debating what he would do to train and make the team the following year, Fiona had found him and wanted to talk. Apparently, prior to any House tryouts, Tony had called a meeting with all of the Heads of Houses and their Quidditch captains. According to Tony, the International Quidditch Association had amended several rules to make professional gameplay fair, and after discussion with Professor McGonagall, these rules would be applied to Hogwarts. One of these rules was that teams were now allowed to have up to five reserve players; these could be any combination of positions (if a team wanted five extra Chasers, they were allowed to do that).

“Peter, after discussion with the team, we want you to be second-string Seeker,” Fiona had said.

Peter was excited at first, but after the first game, he realized he was just a figurehead. Seekers are almost never unable to play a game. He still went to practices. He still got to dress in Ravenclaw royal blue robes for gamedays. He just… didn’t get to play.

It kind of sucked, because obviously that’s what he was most looking forward to.

Shuri comes bounding out of the girls’ changing rooms as Peter finishes polishing his broom. “Hiya, Pete!” she shouts, grabbing the cloth and wax Peter had discarded and getting to work polishing her own broom. “Are you excited?”

Peter resists rolling his eyes. He was very excited that his friend got a position as a Chaser, but there was still a part of him that was a bit jealous. “Yeah,” he finally says. “You guys are going to do great.”

“I’m just excited that I get to hurl balls at my brother. He may be Gryffindor’s Keeper, but I know all his tricks,” she smirks.

At that moment, the rest of the team piles into the room, including the other four second-string players; Fiona had decided on one extra Keeper, one Beater, and two Chasers. Most of the other second-string players were around Peter’s age.

“Okay, Eagles, listen up,” Fiona says, walking to the front of the room and straightening her Keeper’s armor. “Those Lions are vicious this season. Luckily, though, we have some insider information from an Eagle of our own.” She looks to Shuri, who nods.

“My brother, T’Challa, is their Keeper,” Shuri starts. “He’s good. But he’s not the best at defending anything that comes at him from the left.”

Fiona smiles. “Thanks, Shuri. Chasers, keep that in mind as you approach the goalposts. Now, let’s discuss this game plan.” She gets down to business immediately, dividing up strategies amongst the team and explaining each plan thoroughly.

She just has time to finish before Tony pokes his head inside. “Ravenclaw, it’s game time.”

“Just do exactly what we talked about!” She puts her hand out. Everyone follows suit, placing their hands over hers until the entire team, including the second-string players like Peter, have their hands in. “One! Two! Three!”

“Ra-ra-Ravenclaw!” They throw their hands in the air and make their way to the field. Luckily, Peter and the other second-string players will be able to warm up with the team; unfortunately, the likelihood of them actually playing is slim. Peter stays on the ground, doing some warmup stretches and watching the teams fly around above him. He sees Tony fly over to each of the teams, discussing the game with them. At one point, Tony glances down and locks eyes with him; he gives Peter a quick wink before flying over to the professor’s box, engaging in conversation with Stephen and Peter’s godfather, Peter Quill. He spots Rocket sitting in the teacher’s box, as well; he’d applied to be the student announcer during the Quidditch games and, somehow, he got it. Peter can’t wait to hear McGonagall yell at him when he lets out a few curse words.

Eventually, Tony blows a whistle, signaling that the game is about to start. As the crowds of students erupt in applause, Peter and the other second-string players head to the newly constructed dugouts, where they will wait off-field until called upon.

 _If_ they’re called upon.

The Chasers for both teams meet Tony in the middle of the field, hovering just mere feet above his dad’s head. As Tony lectures the Chasers, Peter watches the Beaters practice their swings, the Keepers doing one last stretch as they float in front of the goalposts. He sees Philip, a seventh-year who is Ravenclaw’s new Seeker, fly well above the pitch, eyes already peeled for the Snitch.

Tony suddenly throws the Quaffle in the air, and there’s a moment of chaos before Shuri emerges from the pile-up, the ball lodged underneath her left arm.

“And there goes Shuri of Ravenclaw taking off toward the goal!” Rocket shouts into the microphone. “She dodges each Gryffindor Chaser who’s on her tail. Ladies and gents, we might see a sibling battle here—and she passes it to Noah—and Benedict of Gryffindor snatches it! He’s got Eagles on his tail—and it’s snatched again by Shuri—she’s off to the goals again!”

Peter watches Shuri swoop down, doing just as she advised in the locker room as she approaches T’Challa from his left. She throws her arm out—fakes a toss—and throws the ball directly through the middle of the center goalpost. Tony holds both arms in the air as the stadium erupts in applause. Peter claps, letting out an excited holler as Shuri heads back to the middle of the pitch, high-fiving her fellow Ravenclaws; Peter sends her two thumbs up when she looks over to him.

The game continues as such. Ravenclaw scores two more times before Gryffindor even gets on the board. Rocket’s announcing makes the game all the more exciting, especially when he accidently lets out a curse word when Gryffindor scores, resulting in a scolding from McGonagall that can be heard all around the stadium.

Almost an hour into gameplay, the score stands 80-60 with Ravenclaw in the lead. Peter has noticed that neither Philip, nor the burly blonde Gryffindor Seeker, have moved much from their spots above the pitch. Peter stands, leaning forward from his spot in the dugout, glancing up at the Seeker. He truly doesn’t even look like he’s trying to look for the Snitch; at least the Gryffindor Seeker keeps moving around the pitch, looking for the Snitch from different angles.

The gong goes off as Gryffindor scores another goal.

“Shit!” shouts Rita, one of the reserve Chasers. “When the hell is Philip gonna spot the Snitch?”

“He needs to hurry,” responds Jacob, a reserve Beater. “They say that Thor Odinson is one of the best young Seekers of our generation.”

Peter turns his attention back to the pitch as gameplay starts again. As Shuri, Noah, and Max fly toward the goalposts, Peter swears he spots a glint of golden light. He squints, focusing on a spot above the Slytherin student section. Sure enough, there’s a very tiny gold reflection hovering in the air.

He runs his fingers through his hair, gripping it tight. He glances back up at Philip, who is just floating above the pitch like an idiot.

“Oh my god, Philip, it’s right there, it’s _right there_ —”

“Peter? What’s wrong?” he hears Rita say.

He turns, throwing his arms toward the pitch in frustration. “The Snitch is _right there_ ”—he gestures in the Snitch’s direction—“and Philip’s too in his head to notice!”

Hugo, the reserve Keeper, gasps. “You mean you see it?”

Peter kicks the bench in anger. “Yeah, it’s right—”

There’s a sudden scream from the pitch. Peter turns and sees a Bludger heading in the direction of Darcy, one of the team’s Beaters. She barely has time to grip her bat and hit it. The Bludger soars directly toward Philip (who is clearly off in la-la-land); it smacks him on his right hand, knocking off half of his broom handle. He screams and holds up his hand; it’s hard to see, but Peter can tell it’s bent at a very awkward angle. Philip and his broom begin to plummet to the ground. Tony blows his whistle and holds out his wand; a white light shoots from the tip and hits Philip’s broom, abruptly slowing it down as he nears the pitch.

Fiona calls for a time out, flying down to the ground where Philip landed. The rest of the Ravenclaw team follows suit; the Gryffindor team fly into a huddle near their posts. Madam Pomfrey joins them on the field, and minutes later, she emerges, guiding a pained Philip off the pitch.

“Ravenclaw, you’ve got two minutes to regroup!” Tony announces.

Peter sees Fiona running toward the dugout. She smiles as she approaches, still out of breath, and says, “Peter! You’re up.”

He swears his heart is going to explode.

“Come on, Pete, don’t go soft on us now!” She gestures for him to follow her. “Let’s end this game.”

With a frantic nod, Peter grabs his broom, shakes out his legs loosen up, and follows her out onto the pitch. He glances back toward the Slytherin student section, catching that faint glint of gold for just a second before it zooms off.

Maybe if he proves himself, Fiona will name him as team Seeker.

* * *

 

Stephen doesn’t really care for Hogwarts Quidditch.

He definitely enjoys watching Slytherin play (and win). But since that Fiona Martin decided to choose (of all people) Philip Davidson over his son, he really couldn’t care less.

Because it’s a requirement for professors to attend games, given that they aren’t sick or out for a family emergency, Stephen had no choice but to show up. He managed to sneak in a book about proper ways to change spells slightly, as needed; it was something he was wanting to discuss with his N.E.W.T.-level Charms classes. He was able to block out the cheers of the students and faculty and the insane play-by-play announcing courtesy of Rocket Ramsey (and McGonagall’s subsequent scolding each time he cursed).

Stephen is actually getting to a very interesting chapter about theories on how to force the water-making spell to shoot liquids besides water out of a wand tip when a hand slams down on his book, smacking it out of his grip. He stares at the fallen book for a second before he glances up, his heart beating fast with rage, and sees Quill staring back at him, a frantic look on his face.

“Quill, I fucking swear to God—”

“Peter is on the field!” Quill interrupts.

His heart skips a beat, his eyes going wide. “W-what?”

“Look!” Quill points toward the Ravenclaw dugout; sure enough, his son is sprinting out toward the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

“Oh shit, what happened?” Stephen feels a surge of excitement in his chest. He spots Tony in the middle of the pitch; he can tell that his husband is trying very hard not to jump for joy.

Quill shrugs. “Long story short, Ravenclaw Seeker got hurt and now Peter’s in.”

The charms book is long forgotten as Peter takes to the skies with the rest of Ravenclaw. He manages to make eye contact with Tony, who sends him a goofy, excited grin. Tony blows the whistle, tossing the Quaffle back into the air, and the game starts back up.

“FUCK YEAH, GO PETE!” Stephen shouts.

“Hell yeah, go Peter!” Quill yells.

McGonagall glares at them. Quill groans and says, “Hey, he’s his kid and my godson!” When she turns back to the pitch, Quill rolls his eyes. “What, are we not allowed to cheer?”

Stephen feels so many emotions running through his mind. He’s excited because he knows how badly Peter wanted to play, even if it resulted from another student’s injury. He’s worried; he can’t help but think of Tony, of his injury, and he doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Peter. Above all, however, he’s proud.

Not even five minutes after the game resumes, just as Gryffindor scores another goal and ties the game, Stephen sees Peter’s head turn sharply, and he shoots off. Thor Odinson, Gryffindor’s Seeker, takes notice of this and takes off after him.

“And it looks like Peter Stark-Strange has spotted something!” Rocket announces. “He better hurry, though, because ladies’ man Thor Odinson is right behind him!”

Stephen starts to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet, his hands covering his mouth, anticipating.

“Come on, Peter, come on…”

* * *

 

Peter spots the Snitch again a lot faster than he thought he would.

He sees a flash of gold above one of Gryffindor’s goal posts just seconds after the game begins again. However, before he can take off, he realizes that the Gryffindor Seeker (Peter learned from his teammates that his name is Thor) is a lot closer to it that he is; if he makes a move now, Thor will be able to get to it a lot faster than he could.

So, he waits a minute, keeping an eye on the gold in his peripheral vision. It’s when he sees the gold zoom away, heading toward the Ravenclaw goals, that he turns his head, tilts his broom, and takes off.

Peter narrowly manages to avoid a collision with a Gryffindor Beater as he flies toward the Snitch, keeping his eyes glued to the small ball. There’s the sound of a broom behind him, telling him Thor is likely right on his tail.

 _Come on, faster_! He tilts his broom forward a little more, feeling the air rush by him even quicker than before; it rumbles in his ears. The Snitch is getting close now, so close that he lets go of the broom, stretching out his right hand. Unexpectedly, the Snitch takes a dive toward the ground as Peter realizes that Thor is about to pass him. He tilts his broom again, nearly perpendicular to the ground, Thor following suit. Gravity helps him, and he’s practically falling toward the ground. He spots the Snitch, just inches away, and throws his arm out.

* * *

 

Stephen might actually rip his hair out of his head. Quill might pass out.

He watches Peter take off, still high in the air; abruptly, he changes direction and flies straight toward the ground, his arm outstretched.

“Shit, pull up, Peter!” he screams, knowing full well that his son probably can’t hear him.

“He’s gonna get it, he’s gonna get it,” Quill mutters, probably reassuring himself more than Stephen.

Suddenly, Peter pulls up on the handle of his broom with one hand, just mere feet from the ground, his other hand clutched to his chest. Stephen can tell he’s trying to slow down, but his broom is so wobbly that he throws himself off, landing on the ground and rolling several times before coming to a complete stop.

There’s an audible gasp from the onlookers in the stands. Stephen has to fight the urge to rush down to the field. His heart is thundering in his chest, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Peter abruptly sits up, a wide smile on his face, and holds up his right hand. Stephen spots a gold object in his grasp.

“He’s done it!” Rocket shouts. “Peter Stark-Strange has caught the Snitch!”

Stephen screams, “YES!”, wrapping Quill in a massive hug, and the two of them jump up and down, cheering, delighted. Stephen can hear the roar of excitement from the Ravenclaw student section.

“Professor Stark has called it, Ravenclaw wins the match 230-80!” Rocket says. “Way to go, Eagles! Hope you don’t suck in the game against Slytherin next week!”

Stephen glances down toward the pitch. He sees Peter emerging from what must’ve been a Ravenclaw team dogpile. Amidst the excitement, Peter finds him in the crowd, flashing him a thumbs up. Stephen smiles, and holds out two thumbs in return.

After the post-game celebration has calmed down, the students return to the castle for dinner. Stephen finds Tony in the Quidditch storage room. He’s facing away from the door, sitting on a bench in the middle of the room, and Stephen spots the quick movement of his shoulders instantly.

“Tony?” he says.

His husband turns, rapidly wiping at his face. “Oh, hi, love,” he says with a sniffle.

“Is something wrong?” Stephen questions, sliding onto the bench and putting an arm around Tony’s shoulders.

Tony shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “Far from it,” he says. “Merlin’s beard, I’m just so happy.” He turns to Stephen, a grin on his face. “You know, he came up to me after the game and said it was the most fun he’s ever had. He said _I_ ”—Tony points to himself—“helped him do what he was able to do today.” Tony sniffles again. “I’m so proud of him.”

Stephen smiles. “I am, too,” he affirms. He leans in close, lightly brushing his lips against Tony’s.

Tony pulls away, a serious expression on his face. “But I swear, if Fiona doesn’t make him the team Seeker now, I will riot in the streets.”

With a laugh, Stephen says, “I’ll start gathering picketing supplies just in case.”

Tony moves to rest his head on Stephen’s shoulder; Stephen, in turn, lays his cheek on the top of Tony’s head. He isn’t sure how long they remain like that, but he knows they are both far too hyped on adrenaline and joy to do anything else.

* * *

 

“There’s the man of the hour!” Ned shouts.

Peter feels a rush of heat rise to his cheeks as he enters the Great Hall, brushing off his new Ravenclaw Quidditch jumper. He finds his friends at the Gryffindor table with T’Challa and Thor. He sits by MJ, filling a plate with sausage and scrambled eggs.

“How’s it feel to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker?” T’Challa asks, taking a bite of a muffin.

With a smile, Peter says, “Amazing.” After the game last week, he was asked to meet at the Quidditch pitch that upcoming Tuesday evening. He’d showed up to find Fiona and the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She hadn’t been satisfied with Philip failing to catch the Snitch in their first two games. Rather, she was so impressed by how quickly Peter found the Snitch that she decided to have what she’d dubbed a “Seeker-off.” Similar to tryouts, she had released three Golden Snitches into the air; whoever found the most the fastest would win. It took just twenty minutes for Peter to spot and catch all three, even in the dim evening light. Fiona easily made the decision to make Peter the new Seeker. Granted, since that happened four days ago, he’s gotten glares from Philip and several of the old Seeker’s friends in the common room and the hallways. But Peter truly doesn’t care; he’s got a wonderful group of friends, plus an entire Quidditch team to back him up. Plus, after the game, Shuri dragged Peter over to T’Challa and Thor at the Gryffindor table to rub their victory in their faces; Peter ended up hitting it off with Thor immediately. Now, it’s like the two fourth-years have been added to their group.

“Watch out for my brother in today’s game,” Thor warns. “Loki is one of Slytherin’s Beaters, and he has a strong arm. Trust me. When we were younger, he would use me for target practice.”

Peter gulps. “Noted.”

“No offense, Peter,” Rocket starts, “but I genuinely want you to lose.”

His brow furrowing, Peter says, “Thanks?”

He stays with his friends through breakfast, chatting about classes and laughing as Rocket tells them about how his latest Dungbomb Extreme exploded in his face. Eventually, Peter glances down at his watch and realizes he’ll be late for tea with his dads. He says goodbye to his friends, shoving one last piece of sausage in his mouth before he takes off toward Stephen’s office.

As he’s walking, he spots a couple of his teammates in their Quidditch jumpers and waves to them. Peter truly feels like he’s on cloud nine. He didn’t expect to make the team until next year, and now, he’s done it! He’s so excited, so grateful. Nothing could bring him down.

“Well, if it isn’t Penis Strange Stark.”

Peter winces. Except that.

He turns to find Flash leaning against a stone column, his arms crossed over his chest. Since his conversation with Rocket on the _Hogwarts Express_ several months ago, Flash has been virtually nonexistent in his life. Peter does see Flash every once in a while, but rather than threats, he just sort of taunts him now. He still isn’t sure what Rocket said to Flash, but it clearly worked.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter asks. He stands up a little straighter, hoping he looks brave rather than slightly terrified.

Flash shrugs. “I just wanted to tell you that I hope you suck today and that your broom breaks.” His lips purse into a thin line. “It would be a shame if you fell.”

Before Peter can say another word, Flash turns on his heel and walks away.

“Don’t worry about that arsehole.”

Peter jumps at the new, familiar voice behind him, twisting around. Wade stands there, grinning. He’s got on a Slytherin Quidditch jumper; Peter suddenly remembers he’s a Chaser for their team.

“I try not to,” Peter says. “His knack of butting into everything makes it kind of difficult though.”

Wade laughs at that. “Yeah, he’s pretty terrible.” He clears his throat, taking a step toward Peter. “If it makes you feel any better, though, I won’t let you fall off your broom.”

Peter smiles sheepishly.

“I mean,” Wade continues, “I am just a third-year, and I might be more likely to accelerate your fall rather than stop it if I cast a spell, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Sounds like you need to practice your charms more,” Peter chuckles.

Wade pats Peter on the arm. “Well, while I do hope you lose today—and trust me, that’s just the competitive athlete in me talking—but I wish you luck! First official game as Ravenclaw’s Seeker, that’s pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, good luck to you, too,” Peter says. “I have to meet my dads before the game, but yes, the competitive attitude is mutual. I hope you lose, too!” He walks away, hearing Wade’s laughter behind him even after he turns the corner.

By the time he makes it to Stephen’s office, the tea has cooled down enough to be lukewarm. Peter barges into the office, his dads jumping at the sound.

“Sorry I’m late!” Peter sits on the chair across from his dads on the sofa. He pours himself a cup of tea, adding in a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk.

“Busy morning then?” Tony asks.

Peter nods and takes a sip of his tea, grimacing at the odd taste it’s taken on since cooling. “Breakfast, friends, the usual.”

Stephen sets down his empty teacup. “And getting ready for today’s match, of course.”

Smiling, Peter says, “Yeah, that too.”

Tony sighs. “We’re so excited for you, Peter, even if you are playing against our old House.”

Stephen slaps Tony’s arm, causing Peter to laugh. “We support _you_ no matter what, is what your dad is trying to say.”

Peter grins. “Yeah, I know. I’ll try not to beat your team to a pulp today.”

Tony gasps. Stephen says, “Yeah, never mind, go Slytherin.”

That sends the three of them into a fit of laughter. By the time their laughter ceases, Peter is wiping tears from his cheeks. He adores moments like these with his dads.

“In all seriousness, Peter,” Tony says, clearing his throat, “your papa and I have something to show you.” Simultaneously, Stephen and Tony stand. Peter eyes them with curiosity, watching as they look to each other, nod, and lift their cloaks. Underneath their outer cloaks, his dads are donning two identical Ravenclaw jumpers.

Peter gasps, an excited smile crossing his face. “Oh my—wow!” Peter exclaims. He doesn’t even know what to think. His dads, two die-hard Slytherins, are wearing Ravenclaw blue! He stands and pulls him into a hug, jumping up and down with joy. He’s not sure he’s ever been more happy, more excited in his life. “This is amazing!” He feels Stephen and Tony wrap their arms around him, each of them chuckling.

“We’re glad you—”

There’s suddenly a loud crash that interrupts Stephen, startling all three of them. Peter turns toward the source of the sound; the teapot that was on the table just seconds ago lays shattered on the ground by a wall, the paint covered in old tea splatters.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Well, that was weird.”

Stephen sighs. “It’s probably Peeves again.” He turns toward the wall and shouts, “Peeves, we discussed this, no pranks inside my office!”

Patting Peter’s shoulder, Tony says, “I guess we need to let you go get ready for the game.”

“You probably need to get everything ready too, you know,” Stephen points out.

“True,” Tony agrees. “Good luck out there today, Peter.”

“We’re rooting for you, son,” Stephen adds with a grin.

Peter beams. “Thank you. I’ll see you out there!” He walks toward the door and, turning with one last wave, shuts the door behind him.

Having the support of his dads, even as he prepares to play against their own House, makes Peter feel like the luckiest kid in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has new, exciting classes in his third year itinerary! Meanwhile, Tony and Stephen celebrate something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... hello. I can explain this three month absence. Long story short, I just became extremely busy, and I was unable to dedicate the proper time to write this chapter. On top of that, I have plans for each chapter of this fic... except for this one. I had no idea what I wanted to do, and half the time I ended up erasing what I had written and started over. Needless to say, this isn't the best chapter, but we do get to meet a couple of new characters! I hope you enjoy!

“Come on, Peter, we’re going to be late for class!”

Peter quickly shoves his books in his bookbag, stuffing in a few rolls of extra parchment and some snacks inside, as well. He’s in the common room with Ned, Shuri, and MJ. It’s the first day of classes of his third year, and third year brings some exciting feats. He’ll get to go to Hogsmeade (not that special in his opinion because he and his dads go there all the time, but he’s excited for his friends who haven’t been). He’ll hopefully make the Quidditch team again, this time led by sixth year Beater Darcy Underwood. And, he has several new classes to look forward to, one of which is Muggle Studies with his godfather, Uncle Quill.

Of course, that was the class Shuri was worried about being late to.

“I can’t believe that of all the academically challenging classes that come with third year, you two decided on Muggle Studies,” MJ retorts. “I’ll be sure to tell you how thrilling Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that boring crap,” Shuri argues, “we’ll go have fun with Peter’s godfather.”

MJ raises an eyebrow. “Peter, it seems like you’re related in some way to every professor here.”

Peter laughs. “Nope, just my dads and my godfather!” He grabs Shuri by the wrist. “But we gotta go. Don’t wanna be late!”

They quickly walk through the halls, sidestepping lost first-years as they head to a classroom near the Hufflepuff common room.

“I found it weird that Professor Quill didn’t require a textbook,” Shuri says.

Peter shrugs. “Well, my dads told me he was planning on shaking things up a bit this year. What that means, I have no idea.”

“Maybe by ‘shaking things up’ they mean no exams,” Shuri suggests.

With a laugh, Peter says, “I highly doubt that.”

It’s a few more minutes before they make it to the Muggle Studies classroom. The first thing that Peter notices as they step inside is the strange machine sitting in the middle of the classroom, casting a projection onto a white sheet hung over the chalkboard. When Peter spots the electric plugs leading to the machine, his heart leaps.

“Find us a spot,” he tells Shuri. He sprints over to the machine, finding Quill kneeling on the ground fiddling with something. “Uncle Quill!”

Quill glances up from what he’s doing, a smile crossing his face. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite godson! I was very happy to find your name on my roster,” he says.

Peter grins. “I can’t believe you finally have electricity in the classroom.”

With a shrug, Quill says, “Yeah, I’ll address that at the beginning of class.” He looks at his watch. “Speaking of, it’s class time.”

The last few students file in as Peter makes his way to the two-seater desk Shuri snagged for them. He pulls out a blank piece of parchment and his ink and quill, ready for class to begin.

Quill stands at the front of the room and waits for the class to quiet down. “Good morning, everyone,” he says, eyes glancing around the room, “and welcome to your first year of Muggle Studies. You may have noticed as you walked in that we’ve got a strange new machine hooked up to lots of wires. That’s because Headmistress McGonagall is _finally_ letting me try to teach this class with electricity!”

He smiles. “This class is gonna be a lot of fun. Rather than teaching you the boring crap I’ve had to teach since I got this position, we get to have some fun. We’ll be watching movies and TV shows, diving into cell phones and apps, and exploring all kinds of Muggle technology and such. If you continue this class in your future Hogwarts years, we’ll go into a bit further detail with these topics.” He holds his hands out. “Does anyone have any questions before we get started?”

No hands go up, but Peter can feel the excitement radiating off of purebloods like him.

“Great! Let’s get started.” Quill walks to the center of the room, placing his hands on the machine. “This machine is a projector. That means it can project a series of images onto a screen. These images, most of the time, can move and make sound.” He holds up another machine that is connected to the projector. “This is a Blu-ray player. You put this”—he sets down the Blu-ray machine and holds up a circular disk—“inside, and it displays pictures on the closest wall, surface, whatever.”

Peter jots down the names and a short description of each and every Muggle object Quill talks about. He watches in awe as Quill presses a button on the Blu-ray player, sets the disk down, and presses the button again. The Blu-ray player closes.

One of the Gryffindor girls gasps. “Professor! The machine just ate the disk!”

Quill laughs. “No, Nicole, it didn’t. This is exactly what it’s supposed to do.” He points toward the chalkboard. The students’ heads whip in the direction of his finger, and most of the students gasp as an image appears on the sheet. There are a few lions on screen with a baboon, bird, a warthog, and a meerkat. Peter doesn’t feel as shocked as the other students, considering Quill and Gamora installed a television in their home while he was at school, but they still didn’t have a Blu-ray player.

“Professor,” he starts, raising his hand, “what’s _The Lion King_?”

“That’s the movie we’re going to watch today,” Quill says with a smile. “Now, a little bit of background about movies, animation, and the Walt Disney Company…”

Quill spends the next few minutes explaining to the class what films are, how animation is a series of hand-drawn images that when put together create something that a viewer can watch, and what exactly the Walt Disney Company is. Peter’s quill soars across his parchment, taking down each and every bit of information. It’s all very fascinating, what Muggles find entertaining.

“So, class, without further ado, here is _The Lion King_.” Quill picks up a remote and turns the movie on.

Peter hears the sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling: a typical morning in nature. The calm is suddenly broken by the sun rising with a powerful male voice singing, the sun melting into the red sky as morning begins.

“Do you think every class will be like this?” Shuri whispers as a baboon lifts the lion cub into the air.

Peter shrugs, but he genuinely hopes that’s the case.

* * *

 

When Tony wakes up a little early on a cool October morning, he realizes he is actually quite content. Usually, when waking up before 9 a.m. on a weekend, he can be a little short-tempered and gripey, but today, he feels good. Maybe it’s because he fell asleep spooning his husband, his arms draped over Stephen’s middle, his nose nestled in Stephen’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of musk and cinnamon. Maybe it’s because the fire in the fireplace is still clinging to life, its warmth spreading throughout the room, Fury snoring away in his dog bed placed near the fire.

It might also be because it’s October 14th. His and Stephen’s wedding anniversary.

God, has it really been twenty years since they tied the knot? He remembered their wedding ceremony as if it yesterday. They had been a little young when they got married. At the age of nineteen, their parents had been on their arses constantly, asking them if this was the right thing to do or suggesting that they wait a few more years until they had secure careers. Stephen had just snagged a job as a Junior Curse Breaker at the Ministry, and Tony had only played one season as a professional Quidditch player. The two of them never considered postponing the wedding. In fact, Tony remembered telling Stephen he’d be willing to Floo to Las Vegas and get married there, if they were that desperate.

Tony remembers they wore matching black dress robes on the day of. He could still hear the way Stephen’s voice kept cracking while he read his vows to Tony, how they were giggling through happy tears with each word. He could feel the way Stephen’s lips brushed against his as the minister pronounced them as husbands, the love and longing and passion that poured into their first kiss as a married couple. The entire day was one he would never forget.

At that moment, he hears Stephen let out a long sigh, stretching slightly in Tony’s arms before turning his head toward his husband. Even in the dim morning light, his blue eyes are shining.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers, his voice raspy from sleep.

Tony smiles. “Happy anniversary.” He leans forward, capturing Stephen’s lips in a kiss. His husband tastes like morning breath, but Tony doesn’t care (he knows his morning breath is worse than Stephen’s by a long shot). Stephen deepens the kiss, flipping onto his back to reach Tony easier. His hands find Tony’s lower back, fingers inching downward as Stephen slips his tongue in between Tony’s lips. Tony can’t hold back the resulting moan, longing for more after Stephen pulls away, trailing quick kisses on Tony’s cheeks, jawline, down to his neck.

“ _Fuck_ , Stephen,” Tony breathes, gasping as Stephen’s hands wander down his front. “Can’t you let a man wake up before giving him morning wood?”

“On our anniversary?” Stephen questions between kisses, glancing up at Tony. “Never.”

After, once they’ve cleaned themselves up and stripped the bed of sticky, sweaty sheets, Tony and Stephen find themselves laying on a bare bed, skin touching skin, nothing but a clean duvet covering their bodies.

“Do we have any plans today?” Stephen asks, his head resting on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony sighs. “Besides being lazy arses and lying in bed all day having endless sex? Not that I know of.”

Stephen chuckles. “Maybe we could go to Hogsmeade for dinner,” he suggests. “I hear there’s a new restaurant there that makes an excellent roast.”

Tony huffs. “But that means we have to get up and shower and put on clothes.”

“Hey, I didn’t say we had to go _now_ ,” Stephen says. “And besides, it’s just a suggestion. It’s not a Hogsmeade weekend for the students, so it’ll be nice and quiet.”

Tony is about to respond when an idea hits him out of the blue. It’s a little insane, and unfortunately it will require clothes, but it would make this twentieth anniversary so, so memorable.

“Actually, we can save Hogsmeade for this evening. I’ve got an excellent idea for this afternoon,” Tony says, already brainstorming possible things to do once they arrive at their destination.

They spend the rest of the morning and the early afternoon in bed, only getting up a couple of times to let the dog out, use the bathroom, and make breakfast. Each trip back to bed only ended in them dirtying themselves up more, an issue that Tony is completely okay with. (Besides, spending the day with no clothes on makes it a bit easier to clean oneself up.) Eventually, Tony finds his way to the shower, only to be joined minutes later by Stephen. After another (and this time, more wet) quickie, they wash each other’s hair and bodies before drying off and getting dressed.

“What’s your plan, Tony?” Stephen asks, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers.

“I’m not telling you,” Tony laughs, slipping into a pair of briefs and black jeans. “Just wear something casual. It’ll probably be a little chilly there, too.”

Stephen raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t really help, but thanks.”

Tony runs a free hand along the clothes on his side of their closet, eventually deciding on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a black and white striped shirt, and a black trench coat that falls past his bum. (Good thing too; it’ll be very sore come morning.) He’s just spraying on some cologne and slipping into his brown suede shoes when his husband emerges from the closet, and Tony’s jaw drops. Stephen is clad in khaki skinnies, a dark grey undershirt, and a black blazer with a flannel scarf draped around his neck and tied in the front.

“Wow,” Tony says. “You’re so hot.”

Stephen blushes, running a hand absentmindedly along his goatee. “Oh, stop,” he chuckles. “I’m really nervous. I’ve got no idea what you’re planning.”

“Well, you’re about to find out,” Tony says, slipping his wallet into his inner coat pocket. “Are you ready to go?”

With a shrug, Stephen says, “As ready as I can be.”

Tony smiles, leaning up to give Stephen a kiss on the cheek. Closing his eyes and taking Stephen’s hand, he envisions a familiar cobblestone street, historic ancient brick and stone buildings towering toward the sky. He feels a tug at his stomach and a quick rush of wind as they Apparate, the sounds of city streets and marketplaces suddenly greeting them.

Opening his eyes, he glances up at Stephen, who is looking around in awe. “First off, I’m glad there weren’t any Muggles around to see us Apparate,” he says with a smile. “Second, where are we? For real, now.”

A smirk crosses Tony’s lips. He points down the street to a small wooden doorway. It’s just as he remembers it, though the wood is chipping away with age; he’s surprised the new owners haven’t replaced it yet. “After my grandparents retired from the Ministry, they purchased a flat in this great city. I spent lots of Christmases here before they passed. They actually charmed the area to prevent Muggles from seeing any Apparating persons.”

Stephen raises an eyebrow. “Okay… still doesn’t tell me where we are.”

Tony gives Stephen’s hand a reassuring squeeze and starts to pull him toward the end of the street, where other people are moving with the flow of the city. “Well, one of the best things about their flat was just how close it was to this.” As he finishes speaking, he pulls Stephen out onto the sidewalk by the main road, the Eiffel Tower standing tall and proud before them.

Stephen gasps. “Tony…”

“Happy anniversary,” he says.  

“Well shit, now I have to surprise you next year, and you’ve set the bar high,” Stephen says, a laugh escaping his lips.

They spend the afternoon hand in hand, walking around the city. Tony cracks a few jokes about how “touristy” they look; they’re just missing Muggle cameras and cell phones. And as cheesy as it sounds, despite the beauty of the city around them, Tony only has eyes for his husband. The sparkle in his eyes as they approach the Eiffel Tower, the amusement in his expression when they’re eating almond macaroons and Tony gets crumbs all in his facial hair. All of it means the world to him.

After finding a currency machine and exchanging their Galleons and Sickles for euros and francs, the two of them look for a place to eat. They settle on a cute outdoor café not far from Tony’s grandparents’ old flat. Tony orders jambon-beurre sandwich with chips, while Stephen orders the croque-monsieur sandwich with fresh crisps.

“So,” Tony says, taking a bite of his sandwich, “did you still want to go to Hogsmeade?”

Stephen raises his eyebrows, popping a crisp into his mouth. “After a day this this? No offense to Hogsmeade, but it’ll seem so subpar.”

Tony gasps, putting a hand to his chest in mock-shock. “On behalf of Hogsmeade, I am offended.”

“I mean, if you’re really in the mood, we can,” Stephen says, sipping the red wine they’d picked for their meal. “Though, I must admit, one more glass of this and you’ll be carrying me home.”

“Promise?” Tony asks, winking. Stephen laughs. “I could carry you bridal style, just like I did on our wedding night.”

Stephen’s chuckling ceases, his eyes suddenly darkening. “Our wedding night, eh? I remember you doing a few more things besides carrying me bridal style.”

Tony smirks. “Stephen Vincent Strange, you devious man.”

“How ‘bout it, Anthony?” Stephen asks. Tony’s heart pounds at the sound of his full name; Stephen means dirty business. “Want to recreate our wedding night?”

Tony tries to remember a recent time when Stephen looked at him with such longing and lust in his eyes. Nothing comes to mind. “Why the hell not? What else are we doing?” Stephen laughs at that, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Truthfully, Tony is glad Stephen came up with the idea, because he was getting a little tired of being out in public. It’s his anniversary, after all, and he wants his husband all to himself.

They quickly finish off their food and the rest of their bottle of wine, paying the check before setting off toward the old flat again. Luckily, neither of them are lightweights when it comes to alcohol, so they’re just a bit tipsy. Tony lifts their intertwined hands as they get one last look at the Eiffel Tower, pressing kisses to each of Stephen’s knuckles. He glances up to see Stephen smiling at him, quickly leaning down to peck Tony’s cheek with a kiss. “Let’s get outta here,” Stephen whispers, smirking.

The two of them are just rounding the corner to the flat when something white and translucent comes flying at them, frantic. They jump out of the way, watching as the thing floats at eye level with them.

“What the—” Tony starts.

“Is that… Quill’s Patronus?” Stephen asks.

The parrot starts speaking in Quill’s voice. “Okay, okay, I know it’s your anniversary, and you said not to bother you and you _literally_ shut off the Floo network to your house, so no one could get in, but this is important! Gamora went into labor about nine hours ago, and they’re saying she’s almost ready to start pushing! I’m not saying you need to stop having hot sex, but just be prepared to share your special day with another special someone.” There’s a sudden shout; Gamora’s voice, yelling at Quill to stop being dirty. “Gotta go. We’re at St. Mary’s Hospital in London.” The parrot vanishes into thin air.

Tony and Stephen don’t move for a moment. He remembered Quill coming up to them eight months ago and nonchalantly mentioning that Gamora was pregnant again. They’d been so thrilled for their friends, and even more so when they came over for their bi-weekly Sunday brunch get-together and told Tony and Stephen they wanted them to be their baby’s godfathers. (Gamora’s sister, Nebula, was Daniel’s godmother, and they explained that since they were Peter’s godparents, they wanted to return the favor. Tony and Stephen cried and said yes, of course.) They were there for the gender reveal party, some sort of trend that Muggles started doing. Stephen was the only one who knew the gender, primarily because he was the only one who could make the reveal work, and Tony was pissed that he wouldn’t tell him. Gamora and Quill’s wands had been pre-enchanted by Stephen to shoot out sparks of pink or blue when the word “reveal” was uttered. When the wands shot out pink sparks, Tony cried again. (He’d personally been on Team Girl.) He couldn’t wait to spoil a little girl, their goddaughter.

And now, the day was here.

“Okay,” Tony starts, “I know it’s morally right to put aside our sexual facades and go support our friends, but—”

“We’re going,” Stephen says, bluntly.

Tony shrugs. “Well, that settles it, then.”

They Apparate back to their house. Tony grabs the present they bought for the baby (they found it just a few days after they became godfathers-to-be) and lets the dog out while Stephen reopens their Floo network. They’re still in their date clothes, but Tony doesn’t care. He’s meeting his goddaughter as soon as possible.

Stephen throws a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace just as Tony is pouring some dog food into Fury’s bowl. The flames turn a bright shade of green and lose their heat, making them harmless. Stephen steps into the flames, turning toward his husband. “Should we risk Apparating to the hospital?”

Tony purses his lips, setting the dog food back in the pantry. “There probably isn’t a fireplace in the hospital, darling.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stephen shrugs. “Yeah, we’ll just Apparate.”

“Stephen, wait—” But Tony’s too late. Stephen marches over to Tony, grabs him by the hand, and Apparates.

Just in time for a Muggle woman to see them and drop her to-go mug of tea.

 _Good job, Stephen_ , Tony thinks as they pass her to enter the hospital. He hears the woman turn to her partner and ask her if she saw that; the other woman says she must be seeing things.

Stephen drags Tony to the receptionist area. “Excuse me, we’re here to see Peter and Gamora Quill.”

The receptionist smiles, clicking away on her computer. “I assume you’re relatives?”

“Godfathers of the new angel,” Tony grins.

“Well, only the father is allowed in the delivery room with the staff, so I can direct you to the waiting area for the maternity ward,” the receptionist says. “And I can alert the staff to tell the happy couple you’re here.”

“That would be lovely,” Stephen says.

They’re directed to the third floor, where they speak to the receptionist. He lets them know that Quill and Gamora have been informed of their arrival, but that Gamora is very close to delivering. The likelihood of seeing either of them before the baby arrives is very slim, according to the receptionist. Tony and Stephen settle in next to the Gamora and Quill’s families. They haven’t met but once or twice, but both sets of families are very welcoming. Daniel greets them as well, demanding that Tony play with him. After nearly an hour of playing with Daniel and chatting away with the happy couple’s families, a doctor emerges from one of the hallways.

“Gamora Quill?”

The entire group looks up, everyone but Daniel rising to their feet.

She walks toward them, motioning for them to come a bit closer to her. Tony notices a grim shadow in her eyes, and his blood runs cold. “I’m Dr. Greyson. I’m happy to inform you that Mrs. Quill has successfully delivered a very healthy baby girl.” Before anyone in the group can celebrate, she quickly continues. “However, shortly after, Mrs. Quill began hemorrhaging from the uterine area. We did detect it very quickly, and we rushed her to surgery. I’ll be sure to return with news as soon as we get it.”

Stephen is the one to break the moment of silence. “How’s her husband?” he asks, his voice anxious.

Dr. Greyson purses her lips. “He’s… a bit upset,” she says, low. “He’s with the baby now.”

“Can we see him? Just to offer our support?” Stephen adds.

“I will ask,” she says. “He’s been moved to what will be Mrs. Quill’s room post-recovery.” She pauses for a moment, as if waiting to see if any other questions will be asked, but none are. With a slight nod, she turns and walks back down the hall.

No one says anything. Tony glances down at Daniel, watching the oblivious six-year-old play with his superhero action figures. He doesn’t know. He has no idea. What if…

No. Tony will _not_ think like that. Gamora is one of the strongest women he knows. She’s going to be just fine.

The doctor returns. “You all can follow me, if you wish,” she says, gesturing for them to come with her. Tony and Stephen let the family go first, falling into place behind them. She leads them down several brightly-lit halls before motioning to Room 331. “He’s in here.” Tony watches as Quill’s father reaches for the doorknob, opening the door. The group files in.

Quill sits in a chair by the window, staring out at the city streets below, a bundle of pink in his arms. “Daddy!” Daniel shouts, forcing Quill to tear his gaze away from the outside.

“Hey buddy,” Quill says, a halfhearted smile crossing his lips. Tony can read his friend like an open book. He’s trying to put on a happy face for his son, but the hint of pain in his voice is ever present. It hurts. “Would you like to meet your baby sister?”

Daniel nods. As Quill invites Daniel to sit on his lap to hold the baby for the first time, Tony suddenly gets the impression that they’re intruding on a private family moment. He turns to whisper his concern to Stephen, but before he can, he feels a hand on his shoulder. Quill’s mother, Meredith, smiles up at him. He doesn’t know her all that well, but from the way Quill talks about her, she’s one of his favorite people in the world. She nods, and that’s all Tony needs to affirm that it’s okay to be in here. They’re all family, now.

“Daniel, meet your sister, Nova,” Quill says. Tony watches as Quill helps Daniel hold her, pressing a long kiss to his son’s curls.

As the sun sets, each of the family members have the opportunity to meet little Nova. Tony and Stephen patiently wait their turn, keeping an eye on Quill. He’s very quiet, something very unlike him. There’s a sparkle to Quill’s eyes that normally isn’t there; Tony can tell he’ll break if another person asks him how he’s doing. Tony doesn’t like it, nor does he like that they haven’t received an update on Gamora yet.

Just as Quill takes Nova from Nebula, preparing to introduce her to the two of them, two nurses walk into the room. “Mr. Quill?”

Quill doesn’t say anything. He just stares, his eyes void of emotion. It breaks Tony’s heart.

“Mr. Quill, I am very happy to inform you that the surgery was successful, and your wife is now in recovery. We’re just waiting for her to wake up, and then we will move her to this room.” There are several sighs of relief, but it’s Quill’s joyful, relieved sob that nearly sends Tony over the edge. “If you would like, you can come with me to see her. We’ll take your baby to the nursery while you wait.”

Quill nods, a little frantic. He hands Nova to the second nurse, and as he’s passing them, Tony reaches out and gives his shoulder a reassuring pat. He turns, looking Tony directly in the eyes, and throws his arms around him in a hug. The action scares Tony for a second, but then he gives in, feeling a thousand emotions poured into the embrace.

“Thanks for being here,” Quill whispers into his ear before pulling away and following the nurse down the hall.

Later, after Gamora is settled into her new room and the other family members have left due to the late hour, Tony and Stephen finally get to meet their goddaughter (Stephen cast a spell on this corner of the room that makes them invisible to Muggle eyes). Tony’s already gotten the chance to hold her, so now Stephen sits in the same chair Quill was sitting in earlier, the baby nestled in his arms.

 _Merlin_ , Tony can’t wait to spoil her.

“She’s got your eyes, Quill,” Tony says, staring at Nova over Stephen’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but she’s all her mom,” Quill remarks, giving Gamora’s hand a squeeze.

Nova is absolutely precious, her caramel skin and dark hair a stark contrast to her green irises. And so far, she really hasn’t cried in their presence, which is always a plus to Tony. Peter’s incessant crying was enough for him.

“What are the odds that our daughter would be born on the same day as our best friends’ anniversary?” Gamora asks, exhaustion clear in her voice.

“Just understand that if you throw her any birthday parties on this day, we might not be able to attend depending on the amount of sex we have,” Stephen says.

“Oh my god,” Gamora sighs, rolling her eyes. Quill flashes them a thumbs up and a wink.

Tony clears his throat. “Speaking of, I think we have a wedding night to recreate, do we not?”

“That we do,” Stephen says. He stands, handing Nova off to Gamora. “We might need to soundproof the house so the neighbors don’t hear.”

“For the love of God, please get out of here before you corrupt my daughter,” Gamora says. “And happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary! Looking forward to seeing your waddle on Monday, Stark!” The last thing they hear before Apparating is Gamora scolding Quill about his dirty talk.

After the roller coaster of emotions they endured on their 20th anniversary, Tony is awfully surprised Stephen is still in the mood. The second they land back in their home, Stephen wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and jumps. Tony almost buckles under the sudden additional weight, just barely catching Stephen’s legs and balancing himself.

“What the fuck, give me some warning next time!” he says.

“If I recall, you said you were going to carry me bridal style to our bed,” Stephen remarks. He cups a hand around one side of Tony’s neck, pressing kisses along his jawline, his throat, his collarbone.

One thing’s for sure, Tony will be a _mess_ come morning.

* * *

 

When Peter and Ned find their friends on the training grounds close to the Quidditch pitch, he expects to see them practicing spells or playing a card game.

What he doesn’t expect is to find a heated argument. Even before he reaches them, he can hear the screaming match going on. It seems to be Thor, Shuri, and Rocket versus T’Challa and MJ.

“What’s going on, guys?” he says, wrapping his black winter coat further around himself.

T’Challa huffs. “Thor and Shuri snuck into the Restricted Section of the library last night.”

Peter lets out a low whistle. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, and they found this badass book full of Forbidden Spells,” Rocket adds.

“Forbidden Spells? Doesn’t everyone know those three?” Ned asks.

Shuri holds up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, you’re thinking of Forbidden Curses. These are Forbidden Spells, spells that were created but ended up being so problematic that they were practically written out of history.”

“And… what were you planning on doing with that book?” Peter says.

“I found a really interesting spell about giving yourself a quick—non-lethal—electric shock, and I dared Thor to try it out.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “No, no, no, Thor, you aren’t seriously thinking about doing this.”

T’Challa purses his lips. “Yes, he is.”

Thor shrugs. “If I don’t then I owe Rocket ten Sickles.”

“Yeah you do, baby!” Rocket shouts, laughing.

“These spells were obviously written out of history for a reason,” Peter says. “Take a moment and think about this.”

Rocket sighs. “It pains me to say this, but Pete, stop being lame.”

Peter’s jaw drops as Rocket, Shuri, and Thor laugh.

“I’ve already thought about this, and why the hell not?” Thor says with a shrug. “What’s the spell again?”

Shuri holds up the book (it’s an old one, with a grey fraying cover and browning pages) and points to something on the page.

“He’s really gonna do it,” Ned says.

Peter puts his hands over his eyes, but at the last minute, he spreads his fingers apart to peek through them.

Thor glances at the spell book one more time and holds up his wand, tightening his grip on the end. “All right, here we go, lads.” He takes a deep breath, his chest heaving. “ _Inpul_ —”

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!” a new voice chimes in. Peter turns to see a tall, thin boy walking toward them, a Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck. He doesn’t really know Loki, but he’s played plenty of Quidditch against him. He’s a hell of a Beater.

“Brother, stay out of this!” Thor shouts.

“Nuh-uh, no, remember what Dad said?” Loki asks.

Thor drops his arm, rolling his eyes. “Wha— _I’m_ the older one! I don’t need to listen to you!”

“Mum and Dad both know that I’m more responsible than you. That’s why they put _me_ in charge,” Loki argues. “Plus, Dad will kill me if anything happens to you. So you better stop being an idiot if you know what’s best for both of us.”

There’s a moment of silence, the group staring between the two brothers who are now glaring at each other. And, of course, the silence is broken by MJ.

“Well, this was anticlimactic. And… awkward.”

“So… Thor won’t be electrocuting himself today?” Shuri asks, pouting.

“Oh thank God,” Peter says, running a hand over his face.

Loki takes a step toward Shuri. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to the Restricted Section for you.”

Shuri’s brow furrows. “But won’t you get in trouble?”

“Please,” Loki scoffs. “Madam Pince is the only professor here who tolerates me. Even if I’m caught—which I _won’t_ be—she’ll just limit how many books I can check out or something.”

“God, you people are lame,” Rocket sighs.

Just as Shuri passes the ancient book to Loki, Thor snaps. “You know what? I don’t have to listen to you!”

Loki turns. “Thor—”

Thor points his wand to himself and shouts, “ _Inpulso!_ ”

A lot happens all at once. A blue-white spark shoots out of the end of Thor’s wand and hits him directly in the chest. Peter feels his blood run cold, fear coursing through his veins. There’s shouting; some of it may be from Peter. Thor’s limbs shake as the electricity courses through his body, and he’s thrown back by the force, landing roughly on his back. And as soon as it starts, it’s over. Thor lays on the ground, unmoving.

“Thor!” Loki takes off at a sprint, the others close behind, Loki falling to his knees by his brother. “Thor, you idiot!”

Peter expects to see Thor passed out on the ground, maybe with singed eyebrows, but there’s a sudden laugh from the heap on the grass.

“That was amazing!” Thor says, his voice a bit raspy. “Rocket, you owe me ten Sickles!”

Rocket sighs. “Dammit.” He turns to Peter. “You know, I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

Peter rolls his eyes and slaps Rocket on the arm, hard. “Next time, don’t be an idiot. He could’ve gotten seriously hurt, mate.”

“That’s it, you’re no longer permitted to set off Dungbombs with me anymore.”

And honestly, that doesn’t bother Peter at all. He watches as Loki helps Thor to his feet before slapping him upside the head, cursing him for being a pain in the arse. His third year has been crazy so far, with taking new classes and winning Quidditch matches and trying to control his ragtag group of friends.

What else is in store?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and kudos! Next chapter... brace yourselves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Peter's fourth year! Someone has a crush on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Buckle up, because after this we dive into p l o t. You didn't think this story would just be cute ironstrange fluff and Peter's exciting adventures, did you? And prepare for much longer chapters. Some of the content coming up I've had written for months.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

“Gwen Stacy has a crush on you.”

Peter’s head shoots up from the History of Magic essay he was working on. “What?”

MJ sets her books down, sitting across from Peter. “She has a crush on you. At least, that’s the rumor floating around the girls’ lavatories.”

“Wait, seriously?” Rocket asks.

“Would I make something like that up?” MJ counters. “I heard she got the Cupid's Arrow after that badass way you caught the Snitch during the Quidditch Cup last year.”

“Don’t talk about that,” Rocket says. “Still pissed you beat Slytherin.”

Peter’s in the library with Rocket, Groot, and Shuri, working on the weekend’s homework. Their fourth year is going really well; they’re already three weeks in. Peter is loving most of his classes, except History of Magic and Potions, but that’s to be expected. He’d changed out one of his electives for a new one; now he was taking Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Flying. (Divination was very interesting, but he’d never had a vision of the future or anything, so he didn’t see the point of remaining in that class any longer.)

“Someone… someone actually has a crush on me?” Peter breathes, a smile crossing his lips.

“Don’t let this get to your head, pretty boy,” Rocket says, nudging his shoulder. “But even I gotta admit Gwen Stacy is quite the looker.”

Peter had never even spoken a word to Gwen outside of class, and now the most popular girl in school likes him? They’d been assigned as Potions partners due to their last names being next to each other on the class roster. She was quite pretty, with her pale blonde hair and light blue eyes. Maybe he should make it a point to talk to her in the Great Hall one day.

Who was he kidding? He’d probably make a fool out of himself.

He can’t stop thinking about this newfound knowledge for the rest of the day, lamenting his concerns to Ned later that night in the common room. Though Peter was grateful for the many friends he had made while here at Hogwarts, he secretly considered Ned his absolute best friend. And how couldn’t he? They’d shared a dormitory for four years now, they’d seen each other cry over difficult essays and shared secrets with each other that no one else knew.

“I just… don’t know what to do,” Peter says, wrapping his Ravenclaw quilt further around himself. He was thankful the common room was empty this late at night.

“Well, you know you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, right?” Ned asks. “I mean, what about Wade?”

That was another thing Peter had shared with Ned. He’d spilled all the beans about their detention together, the fact that they would run into each other (literally) at the most random times, the way that Peter’s stomach fluttered and he became dumbfounded anytime he was near him.

But… “I haven’t spoken to him since early last year. And every time I try to make eye contact with him he looks away.” Peter sighs. “And… I don’t even know if I like him in _that_ way.”

“But do you like Gwen Stacy in that way?” Ned asks.

Truth be told, Peter hadn’t thought about it. She’s a very pretty girl, quite smart, and as friendly as all Hufflepuffs are. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t tell Ned, but at Sunday tea with his dads later that weekend, he brings it up to them.

“Gwen Stacy has a crush on me.”

Tony chokes on his tea, resulting in a coughing fit. Stephen drops the biscuit he was holding.

Peter suddenly wishes he hadn’t said a thing. “ _Merlin_ , is it really that surprising that someone likes me?”

“No, no, it’s great, son!” Stephen exclaims. “We just—”

“We didn't realize you liked anyone,” Tony says, still wheezing a bit.

Peter’s brow furrows. “I never mentioned anything about _me_ liking someone.”

“Just excuse your father,” Stephen says, brushing Tony’s comment off. “Do you like Gwen back?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess. I mean, she is really pretty.”

“Well, if you think you could see yourself dating her, then go for it,” Tony says. “The worst thing that could happen is she turns you down.”

“That would be so humiliating,” Peter sighs, running a hand down his face.

“Hey, I got turned down by lots of people when I was here at Hogwarts,” Tony says. “I’m still surprised your papa here agreed to go out with me.”

“But that was different,” Stephen argues. “You kind of saved my life during the Battle of Hogwarts. I owed you one.”

Tony hums in agreement. “Yeah, I’m definitely glad I did that,” he says, taking one of Stephen’s hands and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Peter tries not to roll his eyes; his dads had always been overly affectionate.

“So… I should ask her out?” Peter asks.

“If you really want to,” Tony says. “There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Why not invite her for butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?”

Peter has to admit, he’s still a little skeptical, and he’s still not sure if he likes Gwen like _that_ or not. But, it’s worth a shot, right?

Later that day, dressed in a gray sweater and jeans with his always messy hair somewhat styled, he marches into the Great Hall. He spots Gwen sitting alone at the Hufflepuff table, eating soup while jotting things down on a notepad.

“You got this, Peter,” he mutters under his breath. “You got this, you got this.”

He suddenly finds himself standing in front of her, and when she glances up at him, her bright blue eyes beaming, the confidence he had vanishes in seconds.

Oh _shit,_ what was he doing?!

“Hi, Peter,” she greets, a smile crossing her lips.

Peter swallows the lump in his throat, prays that his voice doesn’t crack, and says, “Hey.”

* * *

 “What do you know about Gwen Stacy?” Stephen asks.

Quill glances in his direction, an eyebrow raised. They’re at the Hogwarts monthly staff meeting. McGonagall hasn’t arrived just yet, so all of the professors are socializing for the time being. Tony sits to Stephen’s left, chatting about the latest professional Quidditch standings with Neville Longbottom. Quill had been on his mobile phone (it’s a _wonder_ that it works on school grounds; he must’ve enchanted it somehow) to Stephen’s right. “Does this have to do with Peter dating her? It’s _all_ my kids seem to want to talk about.”

Stephen nods. “Don’t blame me for being a protective father. I’m just curious. She never comes to see me during my office hours, so I don’t know much about her. All I know is she makes average marks in class, and she’s one of the more popular kids.”

Quill shrugs. “She’s _definitely_ more popular from what my kids tell me. Knows all the school gossip and can spread news like crazy. From what I’ve heard though, even though it seems like she has a giant circle of friends, she’s only close friends with a few people.”

Stephen blinks. “You sure know a lot of teen gossip.”

“What can I say? My door is always open, and my kids love me. Trust me, I know _all_ the tea. I even get visits from students in other Houses sometimes.” Quill pulls his mobile phone back out. “Speaking of which, you might want to tell Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy to stop spreading rumors about Rose Granger-Weasley before her mother finds out.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. He’d spoken to Hermione a few times in the library during their Hogwarts years (he was a year below her), and she was always very kind. But talking to Hermione Granger, the Minister for Magic, about her nephew picking on her daughter? No thanks.

Also, he’d have to talk to Quill about his strange obsession with tea.

“They’re cousins,” Stephen says. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out at Christmas or something.”

Quill laughs. “Anyway, don’t worry about Gwen Stacy. She’s a very sweet girl, popular for all the right reasons. From what I hear, she and Peter are quite happy.”

* * *

 Peter wasn’t as happy as he thought he’d be with a girlfriend.

Okay, so Gwen was very sweet, and he’d really taken a liking to her since their first date three months ago. Like, a _genuine_ liking. She was very kind, super intelligent, and knew all the school’s gossip. (Seriously, Peter found out more about the Potter children over the last three months than he ever needed to know). And she was very understanding of the fact that they simply had two separate friend groups. They spent a fair amount of time with each other’s friends. Peter found that she easily clicked with his friends, and he with hers. They never really argued, and they didn’t spend every waking minute with each other, something that Peter was grateful for (they understood that they needed time away from each other). They hadn’t kissed yet, but they never really talked about it. Peter was happy just holding her hand, embracing her, kissing her cheek. She did the same, and they were content.

So… why wasn’t he happy?

It’s December now. Christmas decorations are hung in the Great Hall and around the school. A white blanket of snow covers the ground, and the school halls are warm and toasty from the heating spell cast around the castle. Midterm examinations are wrapping up, and students will be heading home in the morning. A joyful, excited mood fills the air.

And yet, Peter didn’t feel as happy as everyone else did.

He finds himself walking back toward the Ravenclaw common room, a freshly unwrapped box in his hands. He’d just exchanged Christmas presents with Gwen, as this would be the last time he saw her before the break. He’d bought her a pink Pygmy Puff from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes (or rather, his parents bought it since he can’t go to Diagon Alley during the school year). Gwen absolutely loved it and, despite it being a boy, named him Poppy. He knew she would love it. And yet… she’d bought him something he knew he would never use, something he’d never even talked about before.

Gwen had given him a Gobstones marble set. She’d laughed about the exclusive new scents this set had, such as skunk and rotten egg. But… she didn’t realize that he’d come to hate Gobstones. It took one trip to Madam Pomfrey after a marble exploded and got liquid in his eye during his second year for him to realize he really hated the game. Exploding Snap? Sign him up. Wizard’s Chess? His absolute favorite. Gobstones? He’d rather play Quidditch blindfolded than play Gobstones again. He supposes he might give the gift to Rocket or something,

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice interrupts the silence. “If it isn’t Penis Strange Stark.”

Peter rolls his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he turns to face the source of the voice. “Hello, Flash.”

Since Rocket had words with him back in their second year, Flash stopped stalking Peter and threatening him. Usually, his confrontations came in the form of glares from across the room or loud, obnoxious laughing when Peter passed by him. He’d learned to ignore it, though.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Petey,” Flash says, sauntering up dangerously close to Peter. “You’re seeing Gwen Stacy.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Was that meant as a question or—”

“Ah, getting smart, aren’t we?” Flash asks, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter feels a chill run down his spine. He doesn’t like Flash’s tone.

“You know, I’ve had a crush on Gwen Stacy for months, and here you go again, just taking all the glory for yourself,” Flash says, his voice laced with venom. “You’ve really got to stop that, Peter, before you do something that gets you in trouble.”

Before Flash can say another word, Peter throws an arm up, knocking Flash’s hand off his shoulder long enough so he can take several steps back. “What is your _deal_ , mate?” Peter shouts. “You’ve always had some kind of issue with me, and now you threaten me over my girlfriend? Just knock it off, and stay away from me!”

Flash’s eyes suddenly go dark, and he suddenly seems to tower over Peter more than usual. “You’re gonna regret—”

“Hey, Peter!” another familiar voice chimes through the hall, cutting the tension and causing Peter to let out a sigh of relief. An arm is thrown around his shoulder, but this one is kind and protective and sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Was Flash here bothering you?” Wade asks. “Flash, what have I told you about bothering students who are younger than you? It’s not very nice.”

If looks could kill, he and Wade would be dead where they stood. Peter can tell that Flash wants to charge them and pound them to the ground. But, Flash instead shakes his head and walks away.

“God, that was close,” Peter says, stepping away from Wade. “I owe you one, mate.”

Wade shoots him a half-smile, his eyes on the ground. “It’s no biggie.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Is something wrong?” He hadn’t spoken to Wade since the school year prior, but he could tell something was on his mind.

“Well, uh…” Wade starts, pursing his lips. “Not really. It’s just, I never saw you dating someone like Gwen Stacy.”

Peter blinks. “Oh, not you too—”

“Oh no, I’m not like Flash,” Wade says, holding up his hands innocently. “I’m not gonna threaten you or anything. I just can’t see you being with someone like her.”

Crossing his arms, Peter says, “Yeah? And who _can_ you see me dating?”

There’s an odd, awkward moment of silence that passes between them. Peter doesn’t like it; for them, it’s an unfamiliar feeling. It’s the expression on Wade’s face that gets him. He can see a bit of light leave his eyes; he hopes he isn’t the cause.

“Really, Peter? Are you _that_ naïve?” Wade asks.

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Wade, what are you—”

“You know what? Never mind.” Wade sighs. “Merry Christmas, Peter. Enjoy those Gobstones that you clearly hate.” Before Peter can say another word, Wade turns on his heel and walks back the way he came. 

That was a weird interaction, Peter thinks. But… so is the feeling of regret and longing in his chest. He finds himself watching Wade’s back until he disappears from sight, the Gobstones and the Flash incident long forgotten.

* * *

 Peter wipes at the condensation building up on his Quidditch goggles, bracing himself against the wind. It’s the first Quidditch game since Christmas break. In late January, the weather is freezing, and it snows constantly. And, despite the fact that it is a literal snowstorm right now, the game wasn’t canceled.

“Quidditch always happens, rain or shine,” his dad had said before ruling that it was safe to play.

Professor McGonagall had a fit before calling on Professor Maximoff to distribute low-dose heating potions to all of the players to keep them warm. It was definitely working; Peter felt nice and toasty, like he was sitting by a fire wrapped in a blanket. But that didn’t stop his body from involuntarily shivering every few minutes.

They’re playing Slytherin now. The score isn’t very high, just 30-20 with Ravenclaw in the lead, but with the strong winds and heavy snowfall, it makes everything much harder. Peter hasn’t caught sight of the Snitch once. It’s just overall been a terrible day.

He also can’t stop thinking about the weird incident with Gwen that happened right before the game.

_Peter walks with Gwen down the corridor leading to the Quidditch team changing rooms. They’re hand in hand, and she’s rambling about how cute Poppy looks when he eats and sleeps. Peter isn’t really listening, though, instead focusing on the game ahead. He hasn’t been listening to her a lot lately, he realizes. When they reach the end of the corridor, Peter turns to tell her goodbye when she suddenly pulls him into a dark corner, pushing his back against the wall. His heart starts racing, her blue eyes gleaming beneath her white-blonde bangs._

_“Good luck today, Peter,” she says, her hands resting on his arms._

_“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he stammers. What is she doing?_

_She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Her face is inching closer to his; Peter suddenly wishes he wasn’t trapped between her and the wall. “Peter,” she whispers, her mouth so close to his that he can feel her breath, “I—”_

_Two things happen at once. First, Peter realizes that Gwen is about to_ kiss him _. Second, as he glances up at the corridor ahead, hoping to see an escape route, he spots Wade. He looks as if he was mid-walk when he noticed him and Gwen, and all Peter can see is the expression in his eyes: hurt, betrayal, pain, longing._

_Gwen breathes on his lips again, and Peter just feels the tip of her mouth on his when he snaps out of the trance he’s in. He jerks his arms out of her grip, twisting his head to the side. “Uh, sorry, I have to go.” He squeezes just past her, making a run for the door that Wade has just walked through._

_“Peter, wait!” she shouts._

_“Thanks for walking with me!” he shouts, running through the open door, leaving Gwen and the weird, almost-kiss behind. He looks around, looking for that familiar blonde boy who makes his heart flutter, but Wade is nowhere to be seen._

Peter had tried to make eye contact with Wade before the game, tried to find a way to say _something_ to him, but it was like Wade was avoiding him at all costs. It was yet another distraction to add on top of the wind and snow. _Merlin_ , this game was going terribly.

He hears the gong go off, followed by Rocket shouting something about Slytherin being absolutely badass with McGonagall scolding in the background. It’s almost impossible to hear anything, but he assumes Slytherin has tied the game.

Peter’s goggles fog up again, and he wipes at them frantically. It’s when he’s bringing his hand down that he spots a very, very faint glint of gold near the Gryffindor student section, right near one of the taller red and gold towers. It could be a trick of light, but he’s not risking it. He tilts his broom down and takes off toward the light. Rocket says something about him being on the move. Just as he reaches the tower, he sees the light take off, and he loses sight of it as it zips into a cloud of snow. So it _was_ the Snitch. He pulls up on his broom to stop himself, just about twenty feet above the Gryffindor students, frustrated.

Why the _hell_ did his dad think this weather was okay to play in? Quidditch is supposed to be fun, and he’s absolutely miserable. He knows his teammates are too; Darcy and Shuri wouldn’t stop complaining about it in the locker room. Peter rubs his goggles again. He hears the Gryffindor students below start shouting frantically, but he can’t understand what they’re saying. He glances down and sees them waving in his direction and pointing toward the pitch. He starts to turn—

Something slams into his left side, _hard._ He cries out, seeing black spots in his vision, clutching his chest, not realizing that the blow sent him flying right toward the tower. He crashes right into the corner, hitting his head and shoulder, and the world starts to spin. As he loses his balance and slips off his broom, his entire body aching as pain flares up in his head and his shoulder and his side, he allows the comfort of darkness to overtake him.

* * *

 Tony has never seen Peter look so pale.

He hadn’t even _known_ that something was wrong until several minutes _after_ Peter had passed out. Peter had apparently fallen right into the Gryffindor student section. No one, not him or the other professors or the players, even knew he’d fallen until one of the students launched red sparks into the air. Tony had stopped the game, knowing that red sparks were never a good sign, and flew in that direction. The second he saw Peter, laying there unconscious, his shoulder clearly out of its socket… all the air left his lungs. He doesn’t remember Madam Pomfrey appearing seemingly out of thin air, or Stephen arriving, already quietly sobbing. He almost started to follow them to the Hospital Wing when McGonagall stopped him, saying they had to finish the game.

Slytherin won about five minutes after the match restarted. Tony left for the Hospital Wing seconds after blowing the final whistle. He didn't bother putting his broom away; he flew straight to the castle and ran.

It’s been a few hours since Madam Pomfrey finished her work on him. Night has fallen, the only sources of light being the lamps mounted to the wall and the fire burning low in the hearth. It turned out Peter had a few broken ribs on his left side, a dislocated shoulder, and a mild concussion on top of some scratches and bruises on his face. Madam Pomfrey was going to wait until he’d regained consciousness before treating his concussion, but she’d put his right arm in a sling, wrapped his chest, and bandaged up the scratches. Right now, he was just sleeping. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to let them stay since there were no other patients. Peter’s friends had come briefly to check on him, bringing small gifts of sweets and knickknacks for when he woke up. Quill had swung by, too. But it had been quiet for a while.

For now, they were just waiting.

“I’m such an idiot, Stephen,” Tony says.

“Now why would you say that?” Stephen asks.

“The weather was terrible, and I _still_ made those kids play,” he responds. “Even as a pro, we canceled games when it was as cold and snowy as it was today. Peter’s hurt because of me.” He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, resting his face in his hands, holding back tears.

It’s a few moments before he feels a hand on his back, rubbing circles in the spot between his shoulder blades. “How could you have known this would happen, Tony? Did you agree to go forward with the match knowing how it would end?” Tony waits for a moment before shaking his head, still not looking up. “Then it isn’t your fault. It’s scary, but he’s going to be fine. We’ll be here with him the whole time.”

“You can say it wasn’t my fault all you want,” Tony says after a beat. “Nothing will convince me otherwise. _I_ know it was.”

Stephen sighs, humming. Even his husband knows the guilt that’s eating him alive won’t be washed away with kind words.

Eventually, Tony raises his head, sitting back against the chair, taking Stephen’s hand as he stares at his sleeping son. “Do you think he’ll quit playing?”

“I don’t know, honestly.”

Tony exhales deeply. “If he does, I won’t stop him. One scary injury has the ability to scare someone away from Quidditch for life, you know.” Tony purses his lips. “I’ll tell you what, though, when he wakes up, I’m going to buy him whatever he wants.”

“Oh, Tony—”

“No, Stephen, I’m serious. He wants a new broom? Got it. He wants another dog? Name the breed, and I’ll take care of it. Muggle car? We’ll have to get Quill’s help, but we’ll make it happen.” Stephen starts laughing quietly. “Seriously, McGonagall was right. We’re never playing Quidditch in a snowstorm again. She’ll probably come to my office on Monday and say, ‘I told you so.’”

Stephen squeezes Tony’s hand, and Tony manages a small smile. They sit like that for a while, the crackle of the fire and Peter’s quiet breathing filling the room. Tony feels his eyelids drooping, sleep threatening to overtake him. It had been a long day; he hadn't even had time to change out of his Quidditch referee robes. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until the door creaks open and Stephen says, “Wade?”

Tony straightens, turning toward the door. Sure enough, Wade Wilson stands at the door, looking a bit sheepish. “Hi, Professor Strange, Professor Stark.” His eyes find Peter in the bed, and Tony swears he sees Wade’s shoulders sag. “How is… is he…”

“He’ll be fine,” Stephen answers. “He should be out by in a couple of days, actually. Might I ask what you’re doing here at this late hour?”

Wade visibly gulps. “I wanted to tell you before you found out from somewhere else that I lost Slytherin fifty House Points. And I have detention with you.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. He hears Stephen sigh before saying, “Why?”

He pauses. “I punched one of our Beaters in the face.” Another pause. “It was Jason Wilcox. Loki told me it was Jason who hit the Bludger that hit Peter and knocked him into the tower. He says it was an accident, and I guess I believe him since the weather was so bad, but I still wanted to punch him for hurting Peter.”

Tony suddenly wants to give Wade the biggest hug and hoist him on his shoulders and host a parade for him. He turns to Stephen and says, “Am I allowed to give him back those points?”

Stephen chuckles. “I wish.” He looks at Wade. “But maybe for your detention session we can sneak into the Muggle Studies classroom and watch a movie.”

Wade lights up. “Are you even allowed to do that, Professor?”

“Professor Quill is one of my best friends. He’ll probably even help us out.” Stephen laughs. “Just don’t tell anyone. Can’t have anyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”

The boy smiles. “I won’t. But, um, could I ask you a favor?” Tony and Stephen nod. “Could you tell Peter that I came by, and, that I miss him?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. Wade _misses_ their son? Peter had talked about Wade a few times, but neither he nor Stephen were under the impression that they were friends. “Of course, we’ll tell him,” Tony says.

“Thank you,” Wade says. He gives goodbye, and just like that, he’s gone.

They’re silent for a second before Stephen says, “Wade _misses_ Peter?”

“I did not see that coming,” Tony says.

“Let’s not say anything, and if they do become an item, let’s say that we’ve known it would happen sooner or later,” Stephen chuckles.

Tony laughs. “Honestly I’m still in shock.”

 They make a couple more jokes after that, but they quiet down, still watching their son, waiting for him to wake up. And when he did, Tony would apologize his ear off.

* * *

 Peter makes his way to the main courtyard with Ned, MJ, and Shuri, a cooing ball of fluff in his hands.

It had been a little over a week since he was released from the Hospital Wing. Some of the scratches on his face were still healing, but other than the rough couple of nights of sleep he’d had while his ribs healed, there was no evidence that he’d been hurt at all. Tony had apologized profusely for allowing the game to continue despite the bad weather, while Stephen kept peppering him for details about what had happened. And, truth be told, he had no memory of being hit with a Bludger and slamming headfirst into one of the towers. The last thing he remembered was thinking he had spotted the Snitch. And of course, he’d remembered the weird incident with Gwen.

That was another thing. She’d never visited him while he was in the Hospital Wing, not even when his friends stopped by. And after he’d been released, she kept avoiding him. There was even a time when he went to sit by her for lunch in the Great Hall, and she’d simply gotten up and walked away. He knew it was likely about the weird kiss incident, but he thought that was a stupid reason to be mad. He’d panicked! He still hadn’t had his first kiss, so excuse him for freaking out a bit.

But, he knew their breakup was a long time coming, anyway. They’d stopped hanging out as often as when they’d first started dating. He’d finally managed to catch her in the hall yesterday to break up with her. Surprisingly, she wasn’t mad; she was just very quiet. But she’d seen him in the hallway a few minutes ago and given Poppy back to him, along with all Poppy’s food and the little bed he slept in on her bedside table. So now, he was the proud owner of a pink fluffy Pygmy Puff. He knew in an instant he was going to rename him.

“What do you think you’re going to call him?” Shuri asks.

“I have the perfect name already,” Peter says, thinking about a movie he’d watched with Uncle Quill over Christmas break that had easily become one of his favorite movies ever.

“And? What is it?” MJ demands.

He holds out the ball of fluff. “Meet Vader.” He smiles.

MJ raises an eyebrow. “Vader?”

Peter nods, a little frantic. “Vader.”

“Like Darth Vader from _Star Wars_?” Ned asks.

“Yeah! His name is Vader.”

“Isn’t that a little too dark for a bright pink ball of literal fluff?” Ned questions.

“It’s perfect,” Peter argues, pretending to cry with joy.

MJ rolls her eyes. “You guys are weird.”

The group steps out into the courtyard, which is a bit crowded. It’s a mild day, something that’s rare for the beginning of February. Rocket and Groot are sitting against the water fountain tinkering with something; there’s no doubt it’s some kind of contraption to use to mess with Filch. Peter’s about to make his way over to them when he spots someone else out of the corner of his eye, someone who came to see him while he was unconscious but he hadn’t seen since.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right over,” Peter says when the others head toward their friends.

Ned turns, confused. “Where are you…” Ned follows Peter’s line of sight and sees who Peter is looking at, suddenly smiling wide. “Oh,” he says with a wink.

Peter laughs before turning toward Wade. He’s sitting on a bench in the corner of the courtyard, a book in hand. Peter perches Vader on his shoulder as he walks, feeling the Pygmy Puff’s claws latch onto his clothes. He walks up to Wade, feeling a bit courageous as he sits right by him, intentionally close enough to where their legs touch. Wade glances up, his mouth open (clearly to tell someone off), but his expression melts into one of happiness and relief.

“Hi,” Peter greets with a grin.

Wade stares at him for a moment before smiling. “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and kudos! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has some relationship problems, and he tries out a new club. Stephen and Tony actually socialize for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! PLEASE READ! Hi, everyone! Thank you for your constant support of this story! We're getting close to the end, sadly. I have some surprises in store, though! Now, time for my WARNING. This chapter contains homophobia. If this is something that is triggering for you, please come talk to me on my tumblr (slytherinironstrange), and I will gladly tell you what happens in this chapter! Also, this is the ONLY chapter containing it. This was just one of those instances where the characters took over, and next thing I knew this was the product. From here, we enter heavy plot (some of which I've had written for months). ALSO, as stated in the tags, this is not a "Steve Rogers-friendly" story. Just warning you Steve stans ahead of time!

Looking back, now that Peter and Wade have been dating for a while, Stephen wonders how in the world he and Tony never noticed how _painfully_ obvious they were.

It started a couple of weeks after Peter’s Quidditch accident. He was in Stephen’s office for their weekly Sunday tea, and Stephen could tell that Peter was holding something back; he was practically bouncing in his seat. When Stephen finally told him to just spit it out, Peter exploded.

“We’re dating!” Peter said. “Wade and I went to Hogsmeade yesterday, and we had butterbeer and joked around with the stuff at Zonko’s. And then, he asked me to go on a real date with him, and I said yes!”

It was adorable seeing Peter so happy about a boy. Peter had never come out to either of them, but then again, Stephen understands why Peter doesn’t think he has to. It makes him happy seeing his son so comfortable with himself.

Another time, Stephen was walking down the hall to his classroom when he spotted Peter and Wade strolling together, hand-in-hand. He couldn’t help but smile. Then, Flash Thompson (a nuisance and a pain in Stephen’s arse, honestly) rounded the corner and started heckling them. But before Stephen could say a thing, Wade walked over to him, shoved him against the wall, and whispered something in a low, angry voice. Stephen isn’t sure what Wade said, but he made sure to look the other way as soon as he realized what was happening.

Later that night, he mentioned it to Tony.

“Wade is super protective,” Tony said when Stephen finished. Stephen tried to argue, but Tony shot him down. “First off, he punched that kid who hit the Bludger that hit Peter. Now this? Stephen, he would literally _murder_ anyone who messes with Peter.”

Not that they’re _those parents_ , but Stephen and Tony started having lunch in the Great Hall around the same time that Peter would eat. Sometimes he’s eating with his friends, but other times, it’s just him and Wade.

“They’re literally so adorable,” Tony said one day after Wade smeared chocolate frosting on Peter’s cheek, resulting in a mini food fight that they as staff members _should_ have stopped but didn’t. “How did we miss this?”

“I’m just wondering if we were that bad when we started dating,” Stephen said.

“Also, they’re a lot younger than we were when we became official, so it _has_ to be worse than us,” Tony reasoned.

One day in mid-March after a Quidditch match, Tony said that he caught Wade in the Ravenclaw locker room lip-locked with Peter. Stephen had laughed hysterically at the thought.

“He’s fourteen, Stephen!” Tony had exclaimed. “He should _not_ be snogging!”

“Oh, calm down,” Stephen said. “I’d snogged plenty of boys by the time I was his age.” That had shut Tony right up. (In truth, he’d only kissed two boys by fourteen, but they were good kissers.)

About a fortnight after that, Stephen went to the Charms supply closet to tally his materials only to find it unexpectedly locked. He pulled out his wand, unlocked the door with a quick spell, and walked in.

Only to find Peter shoved against a shelf with Wade’s tongue in his mouth.

“What the fuck?!” he’d shouted. The two boys broke apart instantly, Peter’s face turning red immediately. The oddest thing happened then; the supplies on the shelf shot forward, hitting the other shelves as well as the two boys. Some things fell to the floor and shattered instantaneously. Before Stephen could say a word, or even move, the two boys snuck by him and ran, giggling. Stephen wasn’t mad, though. He _couldn’t_ be, not even when he had to clean up the bloody mess. Later, he told Tony.

“Wait, there was _tongue_?” Tony yelled.

Stephen remembered opening a beer and taking a long victory swig. “Yep,” he said, accentuating the ‘p’ with a popping sound. “In the Great Snog Battle, I’m winning. Also, we probably need to have the talk with Peter.”

“The talk—Stephen!” Tony exclaimed. “He’s fourteen!”

“Yes, and what were _you_ doing at his age?” Stephen countered.

“Not having sex!” Tony argued.

“Oh.” Stephen looked down at the table, taking another drink. “I seem to recall sharing a dormitory with you for seven years and finding your curtains drawn several times in the middle of the day.”

“For privacy.”

“Explain the odd, sticky stench in the air then.”

Tony blinked. “Yeah, we need to have the talk with him.”

According to Peter, Wade had also “adopted” the tiny pink Pygmy Puff he’d made them buy for Gwen, which she apparently returned. One day, Stephen and Tony spotted Peter and Wade playing with little Vader in the courtyard.

“They’re like parents in training,” Tony said. “It’s adorable.”

“They’re fourteen and fifteen, and yet you just referred to them as parents,” Stephen said.

“Shut up. It’s cute and you know it.”

At Sunday tea, Peter would ramble on and on about studying with him in the library, having dinner in Hogsmeade, spending time with each other’s friends, and of course, spending time with each other.

“Can you imagine how chaotic it would be if they had classes together?” Tony asked one day.

Stephen shook his head. “Let’s count our blessings that they _don’t_.”

Now though, it’s just a couple of days before classes start. Peter’s just celebrated his fifteenth birthday. It’s hot and sunny and humid outside all the time, so most days are spent indoors.

And he and Tony have a very moody child to deal with.

Peter had insisted on riding back home in the Hogwarts Express with Wade at the end of the school year, rather than Floo back with him and Tony. Stephen remembered watching them say their goodbyes for the summer while they waited for him at King’s Cross. They’d only seen each other a couple of times since then, and Stephen could tell it was bothering Peter. He’d asked why they couldn’t use the Floo Network to see each other. Apparently, Wade’s single mother can’t afford to keep an open channel in their home. (At that moment, Stephen realized he never knew that Wade’s father wasn’t in the picture.) Wade had to use a public Floo Network not far from their home, and Stephen knew those could be costly. They’d been writing to each other all summer, using their family owl to pass along messages. Wade had been able to save up a bit to come see Peter on his birthday. But now, just a couple weeks after, Peter’s barely come out of his room, except for meals and such. Stephen doesn’t like it.

“He’s not even watching those _Star Wars_ movies Quill bought for him,” he had said to Tony one night. “He _loves_ those.”

Tony had taken a second before responding. “Well, we definitely need to talk to him before classes start. We don’t want him to start the year all moody and shit. He’s got O.W.L.S. to take this year.”

They had tried talking to him together, but that only resulted in one-word, monotone answers. Now, Tony was trying on his own, and Stephen would try later in the day if Tony wasn’t successful.

Stephen’s sitting on the couch reading a book, the TV quietly showing the evening news (he and Tony have grown to enjoy the TV; Muggle news is so _fascinating_ ) when Tony emerges from the hall looking a bit exasperated.

“Well?” Stephen asks, setting his book aside. “How’d it go?”

Tony sighs and sits beside Stephen, resting a hand on his leg. Stephen drapes an arm around Tony as he speaks. “He told me what was up.”

Silence. “And?”

“He thinks he’s in love with Wade.”

Another pause from Stephen. “I’m not surprised. First loves are usually very lovey-dovey like that. Wouldn’t that make him happy?”

Tony scoffs. “You would think. But apparently when Wade came over for his birthday, while they were sitting in the garden, Wade told Peter he loved him.”

Stephen inhales sharply. “Don’t tell me…”

“Peter said he didn’t say it back. Wade hasn’t spoken to him since,” Tony confirms.

Pursing his lips, Stephen mumbles, “Well, shit.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah. But then, he asked me how I knew I was in love with you.”

“Oh?”

Smiling, Tony says, “Yep. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. But I told him, and then I said that if he really thinks he loves Wade, he just needs to explain himself and, when he feels comfortable, say it back. I made sure to tell him not to feel pressured to say or do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable doing, either. It’s his first relationship, so he’s learning and should take things as they come. He seemed to really respond to that. He even thanked me.”

Stephen nods, feeling grateful that their son finally opened up. Hopefully, that means he’ll start acting like himself again.

He clasps Tony’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. “And, refresh my memory, how did you know you were in love with me again?” He definitely knew; Tony had told him more times than he could count. And vice versa, Stephen could pinpoint the exact moment he fell for Tony; it was when he’d saved his life during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Tony chuckles. “It was our seventh year at Hogwarts. We’d been dating for a few months. And when it hit me that I was in love with you, it wasn’t when we were shagging in the dormitory or on a date in Hogsmeade. It happened at the most random time, in the most random place. It was one night after a Quidditch match. It was late, and we were the only two in the common room. I was working on a Potions essay for Professor Slughorn, and you, always the overachieving student, decided to stay up with me while I worked, even though you’d finished the essay a few days before. You had your Head Boy duties and your other N.E.W.T. level classes to study for, but you still agreed to stay awake with me. We were on the sofa in front of the fire. You were huddled under a blanket with a book. I was sitting on the floor to your left. And I remember at one point, I looked up, and thank god you didn’t notice, but I found myself staring at you for what felt like hours. I watched the way the fire lit up the details of your face, the way your eyebrows would scrunch in concentration. You had that look you make when you’re thinking, when your eyes narrow and you purse your lips. And I realized in that moment that I was so, so happy. And I wanted this forever. I wanted to memorize every nook and cranny on your body, to kiss your lips and your neck and your cheeks, to love you with every fiber of my being. I wanted to do everything with you, to study in the library with you, to fall asleep with you, to hold your hand, to kiss you, to make you happy, to grow old with you, to _be_ with you. I _wanted_ it so bad. It was so overwhelming, and suddenly, those three words popped into my head. _I love you_.”

Stephen can’t help the lovesick smile that crosses his lips. He gives Tony’s cheek a quick kiss, squeezing their linked hands. “I do hope that you left out the part about us shagging.”

Tony scoffs. “Of course. But maybe I should’ve. It would’ve transitioned nicely to a talk about safe sex. Who knows if he and Wade will try anything this year?”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about our son’s love life,” Stephen says, rolling his eyes. “Is our love life really _that_ boring?”

Maybe it’s the light, but he swears Tony’s eyes darken. “Are you tempting me? Give me five minutes, and I can show you that our love life is anything _but_ boring.”

Stephen laughs and whispers, “Maybe not when our fifteen-year-old son is just a few rooms away? Wait a few days, and once he’s back at school, I’ll tie you up and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit on a broomstick for a week.”

Tony blinks. “Is it bad that I’m terrified and aroused at the same time?”

“Nope. That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Tony gets up to prepare dinner. Stephen goes back to reading his book and gets a couple chapters read before he hears a door open. He doesn’t glance up from his book, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter enter the room and sit on the recliner, his Pygmy Puff on his shoulder.

“Hey Papa?” he asks after a moment. “Mind if I turn on a movie?”

Stephen lifts his head, smiling. “Go ahead, Peter.” Peter grins and walks over to their movie selection to pick one out.

Yeah, things are definitely back to normal.

* * *

“Peter, could I speak to you, please?”

Peter glances up from his bookbag, brow furrowed. “Sure, Professor Rogers.” He starts racking his brain as he packs his notes and supplies, wondering if he’d done something to get in trouble. It’s his last class of the day, and he’s had a terrible, stabbing headache since he woke up that morning. He was hoping to go lay down for a bit, maybe take a nap. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he walks up to the professor’s desk, his heart pounding slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Professor Rogers shakes his head. “On the contrary, Peter, you’re doing everything right. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He rises from his chair, looking down on Peter. “Have you ever tried out Duelling Club?”

“No,” Peter responds.

“Well, we only operate once a month, for just one weekend,” Professor Rogers explains. “Any students who sign up will be given a chance to duel. Duels start on Saturday, and by Sunday afternoon, we’ll have the month’s duelling champion.” Smiling, he adds, “I think you would be perfect for it.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah! It’s your first time, so it might be a bit challenging. But it’s a great way to practice your spells and see what you’re made of. Think you’re up for it?”

“Sure,” Peter says with a shrug.

“Great!” Professor Rogers says. “It’s this weekend, but if you talk to your House’s Duelling Club leader, they might be able to squeeze you in. Ravenclaw’s leader is Emily Stewart.”

Peter purses his lips. “ _This_ weekend?” _Damn…_

“What, you got a date with a girl or something?” Professor Rogers laughs.

“A boy, actually,” Peter corrects, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the thought of being with Wade again. Immediately, Professor Rogers’ laughter ceases. Confused, Peter looks up, and he swears he sees something negative (disappointment? anger?) flicker across his eyes, but as quickly as it’s there, it vanishes.

“Oh,” Professor Rogers says. There’s little emotion in his voice, which Peter finds odd. “Well, you should think about coming to Duelling Club. Might find you like it.” He sends Peter a half smile. “Now get out of here, you’ve got an essay to work on.”

Peter nods, eager to get to his dormitory and lay down and maybe sleep his piercing headache away. But he can’t stop thinking about that odd shift in Professor Rogers’ demeanor, the sudden cold shoulder.

_What was that?_

* * *

“It’s about time you try out Duelling Club,” Rocket says, nudging Peter’s arm.

Peter nods, a bit nervous. When he’d told Wade about Professor Rogers’ proposition, he was happy that Wade was actually okay with rescheduling their date. “Gives me time to work on some essays,” he’d said.

“Will you really though?” Peter asked, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You know me so well,” Wade responded with a kiss. Peter did feel a bit bad about it, but he really liked Professor Rogers. He didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Not sure how I feel about it, honestly,” Peter says, shrugging. He’d mentioned it to his Papa after Charms one day. Stephen seemed fine with it, but he made sure to tell Peter to go over his duelling spells prior to competing.

Rocket puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You’re gonna do great, Pete. I mean obviously, no Unforgivable Curses are allowed, but pretty much everything else is fair game.”

“Well, duh, no Unforgiveable Curses are allowed,” Peter laughs.

“For real, take it from someone who’s won this tournament before, you’re gonna dominate this thing. Who knows, maybe it’ll be you and me in the finals tomorrow,” Rocket says, slapping Peter on the back.

The two of them, along with the always quiet Groot, exit the Great Hall and head toward the Quidditch Training Grounds, where the tournament will take place. There’s already a lot of students there when they arrive, the Training Grounds transformed into a duelling court. Boxes are marked off on the grass, representing duelling boundaries. Peter spots his dads, who volunteered as judges for the event; when they see him, Peter waves. Participating students practice incantations and check their healing potion stocks (surprisingly, these are allowed in duelling). Madam Pomfrey is also present with a small healing station should anything go wrong. There are also benches set up for students to sit and watch.

Peter wishes Rocket and Groot luck and goes to check in with his House’s Duelling Club Leader. He spots Emily by one of the castle walls, a checklist in hand.

“Ah, Peter,” she greets with a smile. “Love the Quidditch jumper.” She runs a finger along her checklist, marking off his name. “Your dads are here. Gonna make them proud?”

Peter shrugs. “I hope so. It’s my first time.”

“You’d be surprised how well first-timers do,” Emily laughs. “Looks like your first duel will be at 1:15 against Lucy Parkinson of Slytherin. Professor Longbottom will be judging. You’ll be on Duelling Strip C.”

“Great, thanks,” Peter says.

His first duel is over in minutes. All it took was a quick block and a full body-bind curse before Professor Longbottom declared him the winner. He spots MJ and Shuri on the spectator’s benches and sits with them while he waits for the next round to begin. Thor dominates a duel with a seventh-year Ravenclaw and joins them not long after (Peter can’t believe it’s Thor and T’Challa’s last year… he’s really going to miss talking Quidditch with them). Rocket wins his duel, but Groot loses after disarming and knockback spells. Loki’s also duelling, victorious after a quick stunning spell. He also notices, while he’s sitting there wasting time, that he’s starting to get a bit of a headache.

His next duel is a bit trickier to say the least. Maybe it’s because it was early evening, and the sun was shining in his eyes. He dueled Max White of Hufflepuff, with Professor Romanoff judging. Peter _almost_ lost his wand to a disarming spell, and he did get hit with the jelly-legs jinx (luckily, Rocket taught him the counter-curse). Once he got back on his feet, he held out his wand and thought _Levicorpus!_ Immediately, poor Max lost his footing and turned upside down, suspended a foot above the ground. Professor Romanov declared Peter the winner after a few seconds (perhaps giving Max time to use the counter-course if he knew it). He spots his dads after releasing Max from the jinx. Tony gives him two thumbs-up, and Stephen smiles. He also sees Wade walking down from the castle entrance, blowing him a kiss.

Peter’s head is _pounding_ by the time this round is over. He heads back to Emily, who has the next round of duels in hand.

“Peter Stark-Strange, you’ll be duelling Miles Morales of Gryffindor on Duelling Strip D at 6 p.m. with Professor Quill judging,” she says.

He’s never met Miles before. All he knows is he’s a year below him. (“He hangs out in the common room a lot,” Thor had said when Peter asked about him. “He really likes art. I think he practices sketching and painting more than he practices magic.”)

The number of students left in the competition is dwindling fast, but there’s more spectators with each passing round. As Peter approaches Duelling Strip D, he spots Ned, who had homework to complete that day, joining their group. He sees Thor get tossed out of his strip by some seventh-year Hufflepuff, and Stephen declares the other kid the winner.

The competition’s really heating up. He really wishes the pounding in his head would go away.

Miles saunters up to the strip, straightening his denim jacket, and, yeah, Peter’s definitely seen him hanging out in the halls before. They walk toward the middle of the strip, staring each other in the eyes as Quill explains the rules they’ve heard over and over that day. Once he’s done, they bow, readying their wands.

“May the best wizard win,” Miles says.

Peter winks.

They take several paces backward and get into proper stances. Peter doesn’t take his eyes off his opponent, but he can tell there’s a small crowd gathering to watch their duel. He’s sure one or both of his dads are watching. _Please don’t suck, Peter._

Neither of them moves for a second. Then, Miles throws out his arm and shouts, “ _Expelliarmus_!” A red light shoots from his wand, but Peter is ready. A quick, nonverbal protection spell, a flash of white light, and the red beam flies off into the night.

Peter doesn’t waste a second, immediately pointing his wand at Miles and shouting, “ _Tarantellegra_!” The green light hits Miles and, instantly, his feet start flailing about, giving him the illusion of dancing uncontrollably. The spectators chuckle at the odd sight, anxious to see what happens next.

Miles, rather than casting the counter-curse, chooses to cast another spell. “ _Impedimenta_!” A turquoise light hits Peter—still in shock that Miles managed to cast a spell with his legs spasming—square on the chest. Peter’s limbs suddenly feel as though they weigh a thousand pounds, and he finds himself moving at snail speed. He watches Miles regain control of his legs. He _knows_ he has to brace himself for another attack, but his arms are moving so _slow_ —

Peter throws his wand arm up with all his might, and the temporary slowing spell breaks. Before Miles can cast anything else, Peter shouts, “ _Flipendo_!”

But… the strangest thing happens when the blue light leaves his wand. The pounding in his head _explodes_ —and is gone the instant the spell hits Miles. Miles flies back, landing roughly on his side. And, strangely, the spell splits, blue light hitting several spectating students and knocking them back.

Silence settles over the crowd.

Peter’s standing there, wand out, quite confused. He looks to Quill, whose jaw is dropped. “Um,” Peter starts, dropping his wand arm. “Should I…” He points to Miles.

His words seem to knock Quill out of his stupor. “No, no, I got it.” Peter sighs, putting his hands on his hips. He stares at the affected students, now rising to their feet and looking at him in astonishment and shock. He also sees Wade among the crowd, staring at him in pure awe.

_How the hell did I do that?_

A green light suddenly hits Peter in the chest. Before he can do anything, he finds himself flipping upside down—dropping his wand in the process—hoisted into the air by his ankle. Miles, his denim jacket now stained from the grass, walks toward Peter, wand out.

And… Peter can’t do anything because his wand is on the ground.

_Well, shit._

After a few seconds, Quill holds his hand out in Miles’ direction. “We have a winner! Miles Morales!”

Gryffindor students erupt in cheers. Miles crosses the strip and shakes Peter’s hand—even though Peter is still hanging upside down.

“Good duel, Stark-Strange,” he says.

“You too, mate,” Peter responds. “I’m really sorry about that jinx. I… truly have no idea what happened.”

Miles laughs. “Yeah, that was insane, man. You’ll have to teach me how you did it sometime.”

Peter smiles. “So, uh…” He gestures to his upside body, chuckling. “Could I get a little help here?”

* * *

“How do I look?”

Stephen turns and checks out his husband, eyes swimming up and down his body, drinking him in. He’s chosen a pair of black jeans and a black blazer with a dark green shirt underneath. Sometimes, Stephen wonders how in the world he ended up with such a handsome man as his life partner; he doesn’t deserve him.

With a lustful smirk, Stephen steps closer to Tony; when their bodies are touching, Stephen’s hands find Tony’s hips. As he leans down and plants a kiss to his husband’s lips, he allows his hand to slide down his hips, and when they find Tony’s arse, he gives a proper squeeze. “Does that answer your question?”

Tony laughs. “You flatter me. We all know your bum is much nicer than mine.”

Stephen winks, chuckling when he feels a slight pinch on his own arse. “Well, you said it, not me.”

“Besides, look at you!” Tony steps back and walks in a circle around Stephen, giving a high-pitched catcall. “You’re gorgeous.”

Stephen decided to go more casual than his husband for their night out with friends, selecting a pair of dark blue jeans, a dark grey shirt, and a solid black hoodie. Perfect for the chilly weather of late February. “Oh, stop it,” he says, blushing as he reaches for Tony’s hand, their fingers dancing around each other but not quite grasping. “We should probably get going soon. I’m sure they’re already there.”

He'd decided a few weeks prior that it had been _way_ too long since he and Tony had a fun night out with their friends. Stephen really missed them. With everyone in their group off living their own lives, having families and building careers and such, it was hard to make time to catch up. But, luckily, after days of trying to plan something, they’d found a weekend where everyone would be available. Reuniting at one of their favorite hangout spots while at Hogwarts seemed appropriate. Drinks and good food at the Three Broomsticks sounded great to him.

Plus, Tony always gets _especially_ clingy when he’s drunk, so Stephen has that to look forward to.

Tony intertwines Stephen’s fingers with his and smiles. “Let’s get to it, then! It’s been months since I’ve gotten drunk, and my liver is begging for some firewhiskey.”

Brow furrowing, Stephen says, “That doesn’t sound right, but okay.” As Tony laughs, Stephen envisions Hogsmeade in his head and Apparates, dragging Tony with him.

They land in front of the pub in Hogsmeade, greeted by a cool gust of wind. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, giving the village a cozy vibe. Giving his husband’s hand a reassuring squeeze, they step inside.

Thankfully, it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend at school, so the tavern isn’t as crowded as normal. Couples and friends, old and young, sit at the bar and the booths, mugs of warm Butterbeer and ale in hand.

“There they are,” Tony says, pointing with his free hand to a booth in the corner of the room. Gamora and Quill are already there, along with three friends whom they haven’t seen in months.

“Christine!” Stephen says. The woman looks at Stephen and smiles, laugh lines that weren’t there ten years ago crinkling around her blue-grey eyes. She rises and wraps him in a hug.

“Oh, Stephen, it’s great to see you! It’s been too long.” Christine is his friend from childhood; they lived just down the road from each other growing up. When they came to school, she was Sorted into Ravenclaw. They remained close all throughout their Hogwarts years. One his favorite memories with her happened during their fifth year. They had been eating lunch together one day around Christmastime when Christine had admitted she’d had a crush Stephen for a few months.

She was the first person he came out to.

He was truly expecting her to laugh in his face or throw her lunch at him and storm off. Instead she said (and this was _exactly_ what she said), “Okay. Cool. So, do you have any guys you like?” and they continued their conversation as normal. Stephen was worried things might change between them after that, but everything was just as it had been before. There were actually times when they would gossip about the most attractive boys at school (she always had an thing for Harry Potter; Stephen couldn’t stand the messiness of the Chosen One’s hair). She was the first person Stephen looked for after the Battle of Hogwarts, after he and Tony treated their injuries. After their Hogwarts career had ended, while Stephen went off to work at the Ministry as a Curse Breaker for a few years (before he decided that career was too dangerous if he wanted a family one day), she became a Healer at St. Mungo’s, where she remains today.

He and Tony switch places, Tony greeting Christine while Stephen greets Tony’s good friends, James Rhodes and Pepper Potts. They were also in his year, both Gryffindors with Steve Rogers. Tony formed a close friendship with Pepper early on in their schooling, and he became close to Rhodey in their later Hogwarts years, supposedly over a mutual hatred of Steve. Rhodey went on to become an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Pepper was employed in the same department, but she’d worked her way up the ranks and now holds the title of Chief Witch of Wizengamot, Britain’s wizarding court of law. She’d been in that position for four years.

It always bothered Stephen that Steve played such a huge part in Tony’s life, yet he has no idea what forced the wedge between them.

Their group of seven squeezes into the booth, Stephen sitting to Christine’s right, Tony on his left at the end of the bench. Stephen and Tony intertwine hands under the table as Madam Rosmerta swings by with seven giant mugs of foaming Butterbeer that one of them must’ve already ordered. They talk about a variety of things while sipping at their frothy drinks. Christine discusses work at the hospital, how they recently had their first case of dragonpox in years, and the Head Healers were concerned the disease could make a comeback. Rhodey talks about working under Harry Potter, how he’s surprised that after all these years he hasn’t let the fame go to his head. Like true parents, they _all_ discuss their kids, the ones with younger children setting up playdates. Stephen and Tony talk about how Peter is already mega-stressed about his O.W.L.s. Pepper talks about Ministry news and mentions she’s become rather close with Hermione Granger, the Minister for Magic. And of course, she, Christine, and Rhodey ask all about the happenings at Hogwarts.

Time passes faster than expected. With each sip, Stephen can feel his walls coming down, his body entering a tipsy state of relaxation, especially after Quill insists he try pouring some firewhiskey into his Butterbeer (very strong, too many flavors, would not recommend). At one point, Stephen realizes they’ve each gone through several mugs of Butterbeer, plus nearly an entire bottle of firewhiskey.

No wonder his head is spinning a bit, and his bladder feels like it might explode.

Separate conversations fire up within their group. Gamora and Quill discuss Muggle politics with Pepper, while Christine and Rhodey talk about their families; how in the world they’re still sober enough to discuss such serious topics, he has no idea.

There’s a sudden pressure on his shoulder; he turns to see Tony resting his head, a smile on his face.

“What’s got you so happy?” Stephen asks and, _wow_ , his voice is slurry.

Tony giggles. “I just love spending time with you and our friends. They’re great friends, aren’t they?”

Stephen hums in agreement. “The best.”

“We-we should do things like this every weekend,” Tony garbles. Stephen feels Tony place a hand on his upper inner thigh, resulting in a gasp from Stephen.

“Except, maybe let’s not get so drunk?” Stephen suggests as Tony wraps his other arm around Stephen’s shoulder. “I love how clingy you get, but we’re gonna pay for it tomorrow.”

Tony snuggles his head further into Stephen’s shoulder, causing him to laugh. “But getting drunk is so fun!”

“We’re also not in our twenties anymore, you know,” Stephen chuckles.

“Mm, I know,” Tony says. He lifts his head and presses a kiss to Stephen’s cheek. Stephen blushes, turning his neck and kissing Tony full on the lips. He tastes like butter and cinnamon and ale. The kiss deepens, Stephen wrapping his hands around Tony’s neck while Tony squeezes his leg, a moan escaping his lips.

“Get a room, you two!” Quill shouts. Stephen and Tony pull away, foreheads lingering against each other as they burst into childish giggles.

“Actually, that looks fun,” Gamora says before she grabs Quill’s face, sticks out her tongue, and shoves it _directly inside Quill’s mouth_. Rhodey and Pepper gag while everyone else roars with laughter, especially when Quill leans back against Rhodey as Gamora deepens the kiss.

Yeah, everyone is definitely _plastered_.

“Is Tony Stark in here?!”

The laughter ceases. Gamora and Quill pull away from each other. Stephen sits up. Even in his drunken state, he’d recognize that voice everywhere.

Steve Rogers stands in the doorway, clearly intoxicated from the way he’s leaning heavily against the door.

“Great, what does that asshole want?” he hears Quill mutter.

“What’s he doing here?” Tony asks. He looks to Stephen, reaching for his hand.

Stephen doesn’t know, but he fights the urge to reach into his pocket and grab his wand. Steve’s intentions may be good; he doesn’t know yet.

Before Stephen can quietly suggest that they try to sneak out, Steve spots them, lifting a heavy arm and pointing directly at Tony. “There ya are!” He stumbles in their direction. Stephen lets go of Tony’s hand and instinctively puts an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

“What do you want, Steve?” Rhodey asks as Steve steps up, putting most of his weight on the table. Stephen grimaces; he can smell the alcohol from here, and he definitely wasn’t drinking sweet alcohols like the rest of them.

Steve narrows his eyes. “James, I wasn’ looking for you. I was looking for Tony.” As he speaks, he gestures to Tony, his arm clearly getting a little too close for comfort and causing Tony to flinch back.

Tony sighs. “Well, you found me,” he says. “What do you want?”

“I jus’ wanna know, you know, we used to be such good friends, and now we aren’. What happen?”

Stephen sits up a little straighter at that. He knows how uncomfortable Tony gets talking about his childhood friendship with Steve. Again, he doesn’t know what happened between them, but he knew that Tony would tell him when he was ready. Whatever it was, it must’ve been _bad._ The hand that’s on Tony’s waist gives a reassuring squeeze, and Stephen hopes Tony can pick up on the silent message he’s sending. _You don’t have to talk about this._

Tony turns his head, meeting Stephen’s eyes; his chocolate brown ones are a little more focused than they were earlier, as if seeing his ex-best friend sobered him up a bit. _It’s okay_ , his eyes seem to be saying.

His husband turns back to his ex-friend, clearing his throat. “You seriously don’t remember what happened?”

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. “D’you really think I’d be here if I did?”

Tony scoffs, straightening. “I can’t believe you don’t remember what you did.”

“What _I_ did?” Steve asks, his voice raised.

“Yes, what _you_ did!” Tony retorts. “Our fifth year. We were in the Great Hall. Two boys from Ravenclaw walked in, holding hands. I thought it was sweet. You didn’t know it, but at that time, I was questioning my sexuality, who I was, who I liked, because I was realizing I felt the same way about boys that I did about girls.” Tony pauses. “Do you know what you said, what you did, the second you saw those boys?”

Steve is silent, biting his lip.

Stephen knows where this is going. He hates that Tony was put on the spot like this. He can feel tears developing in his eyes, and there’s a pang of pain in his chest. He feels sick. He unwraps his arm from Tony’s waist, reaching for Tony’s hand, his thumb stroking his knuckles. Stephen wants to tell Tony that can stop talking, that he doesn’t have to relive this memory again.

But Tony continues.

“You gagged. You said, ‘That’s disgusting.’ You said, ‘How can they live with themselves?’ You called them ‘freaks of nature.’ I remember sitting there, in shock. My best friend, someone who I could talk to about anything, who I had known since birth, was disgusted by something that _I was_. That I _am._ ” Tony lets out a shaky breath of air, and Stephen can see that his eyes are shimmering with tears. “I went to the bathroom and cried for hours after that. I skipped my classes that day. My eyes were red and raw, and I hated myself for _weeks_. I was late to Quidditch practice all the time, if I even bothered to show up at all. Eventually, I realized something. I couldn’t be friends with someone who was repulsed by me, by others like me, just because of who I loved.

“I had to cut you out of my life. I couldn’t be around that kind of negativity. I was in a fragile state. I needed to surround myself with people who would be loving and supportive while I discovered myself. And with that comment you made, you didn’t make the cut.” Tony leans back and wipes at his eyes with his free hand. “Does that answer your question?”

Stephen blinks rapidly, a tear slipping down his cheek. He narrows his eyes at Steve, glaring daggers at the man.

How dare he. How dare he demand this sort of answer from Tony in such a public setting.

And what happens next is completely unexpected.

Steve _laughs._

It’s a loud, high-pitched cackle, one that echoes off the tavern walls. It draws the attention of the other tavern patrons, who are now tuned-in to what should be a private conversation.

“What’s so funny, Rogers?” Stephen asks through gritted teeth.

“Iss this whole si’uation really,” he says between fits of laughter. “Iss ridiculous. To hate someone for one comment.”

Quill leans forward, pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “Are you _that_ thick-headed? What you said _hurt_ Tony.”

“He was vulnerable,” Stephen adds, “and you struck a nerve. _You’re_ the reason that your friendship fell apart.”

Steve lets loose another giggle. “And do you think I give a fuck?”

Stephen hears Tony inhale sharply. His blood is pounding in his ears, his hands shaking with anger. How could someone be so cruel?

When Tony speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper, but there’s obvious pain and confusion. “What?”

“What I said then ‘s the same way I feel now. How could I be friends with someone who believes in something so unnatural? Iss disgusting.” He points at Tony and Stephen, finger moving between them. “ _You two_ are disgusting.”

Before Stephen can say a word, can yell at him to get out and leave them alone, to call him obtuse and ignorant and all sorts of other names, Steve says, “I’m not surprised your kid’s as fucked up in the head as you are.”

Many things happen at once as soon as the last word leaves his mouth.

There’s an audible gasp from several other guests in the pub.

Stephen, Quill, Gamora, Christine, Pepper, and Rhodey are all on their feet an instant.

Stephen’s hands tense into fists, his knuckles white. He only sees _red_.

Rhodey and Quill shout profanities, specifically, “Son of a bitch” and “Are you shitting me?”

Christine says, “How dare you!”

Gamora whips out her wand, points it directly at Steve’s chin, and says, “Say that again and it’ll be the last thing that leaves your sorry lips.”

Quill grabs Gamora’s shoulders, holding her back.

Tony is frozen, still sitting, numb.

Steve _smirks._

Stephen fights the urge to leap across the table and beat Steve’s smug face to a _pulp._ Talking about him was one thing. Talking about his husband was another. But talking about _his child_ … Children were untouchable topics; any civil person would know that.

Taking a deep breath, Stephen steps around Tony’s legs, exiting the safety of the booth. He can feel all eyes on him as he reaches out and places a careful, shaky hand on Gamora’s wand hand, slowly lowering it. She flicks her eyes over to him, and he sends her a silent message.

_Let me handle this._

She obliges, pocketing her wand.

Stephen turns and finds himself inches away from Steve. He towers over the other professor, the scent of alcohol stronger than before.

“Oh, did I piss the f—”

Stephen swings a fist back and throws it forward, knuckles knocking into Steve’s jaw with such a force that the other man falls to the ground instantly. He steps over Steve, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt and heaving him up, their faces dangerously close. Stephen leans in close to Steve’s ear and whispers, “If you ever come near me, my husband, or my son again, you’ll be sorry. Leave us the fuck alone.” He lets go, Steve slumping back to the ground, and walks back to their booth.

Tony hasn’t moved. He’s staring ahead, but Stephen can see his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We’re gonna head home,” Stephen says. He can feel more tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He starts to pat his pockets, feeling for his wallet to pay for their share of the drinks, when he feels a touch on his hand.

Christine is staring back at him with wide, caring eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” She flicks her gaze to Tony. “Get him home.”

Stephen nods, his lips pursed. He reaches for Tony, helps him to his feet, and envisions their bedroom in his mind. There’s a tug at his stomach and a sudden gust of air, and then they’re back home.

He gets to work immediately. He slips Tony’s tight jeans down to his ankles and helps his still shell-shocked husband to the bed, slipping off his shoes and jeans but leaving his socks on. He undoes the button on his blazer and shrugs it off his shoulders, leaving him in nothing but his shirt and underwear and socks. “In you go,” Stephen breathes, a lump in his throat, tugging the duvet and sheets out from under Tony. He picks up Tony’s legs and gently places them under the blankets at the foot of the bed and tenderly places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, laying him back on the bed before covering him with the duvet. He gingerly pecks a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “You’ve had a long night, love. Get some rest.”

Thinking back to what Steve said about Peter, he silently adds, _we both have._

* * *

When Stephen wakes up, he’s cold.

He blindly throws out a hand, reaching for Tony to pull him closer, but his fingers only find an empty divot. He opens his eyes, confused, and squints at the clock on his bedside table. It’s only three in the morning.

Stephen sits up, murmuring a quiet and sleep-laced, “Tony?”

There’s no answer.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Stephen shoves the blankets off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s got a bit of a headache from the alcohol, but that’s the least of his worries.

Where could Tony be?

He notices their bedroom door is cracked, a faint light shining into their bedroom. Still clad in his pajama pants and undershirt, he rises to his feet, quietly opening the door and following the source of light to the living room.

Tony sits on the sofa, his back turned from Stephen. He can hear muffled crying, and his heart aches. He steps toward his husband and, when he’s standing right behind him, wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders, laying his cheek on Tony’s head of hair. Tony flinches at first, but he eventually leans into the touch.

It’s then that he notices that Tony is looking at a photo album. He studies the moving photos. There’re two kids in each of the pictures. Stephen immediately recognizes one of them as a young Tony, his wavy hair a wild mess even back then. It takes him a moment to realize that the other child is Steve Rogers. In one photo, he and Tony are spinning in circles in the air on broomsticks, making silly faces at each other. In another, they are both waving to the person behind the camera, flashing toothy grins.

A childhood full of memories, of friendship, all washed down the drain with a simple, ignorant comment.

Tony sniffles. “He was my best friend. We did everything together.” He wipes at his eyes. “He was my best friend, Stephen, and he hates me because I love you.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he chokes out a heavy sob. Stephen gently scoots him forward and joins him on the couch. Tony turns and nuzzles his face in the base of Stephen’s shoulder, tears soaking his shirt, the photo album between them suddenly long forgotten.

Stephen wraps his arms protectively around Tony, shielding him from anything other than this moment. His knuckles throb as he thinks about the confrontation, Tony’s blank expression, him knocking Steve Rogers to the ground after he made that nasty remark about Peter. If he could go back, tell Tony that he wasn’t feeling well and that they should stay in and cook beef stew and snuggle on the couch in their pajamas and watch movies all night, he would. He would do anything to take this pain, this heartbreak away from Tony, to keep Steve Fucking Rogers far away from them and their son.

But… he can’t.

Stephen resigns instead to holding Tony close, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, wondering how there could still be ignorant, closed-minded people in the world.

* * *

There’s a knock at the door.

Stephen glances up from the stack of essays he'd been grading. “Now who could that be?” He’s in his office with Tony. The events from the weekend were still weighing heavily on their shoulders. It was only Tuesday, but he could tell that Tony was spending every possible moment he could in privacy. He would go to class and come back to Stephen’s password-protected office immediately. Stephen knew he was avoiding a possible confrontation with Steve.

Frankly, if Stephen saw Rogers in the halls, he probably wouldn’t be able to hold himself back from beating him to the ground.

Tony shrugs, not even looking up from the book he’s reading.

The wizard from the portrait appears in the blank frame by the door. “Sir, it’s James Barnes and Peter Quill. Should I let them in?”

Tony’s head shoots back up at the name. “Why is _his_ friend here?”

Stephen’s brow furrows. “Um, sure, let them in.”

The door swings open, and the two men walk inside, Quill ahead of who Stephen assumes is James. The new man is roughly around Tony’s height, with tan skin and dark shoulder-length hair, half of which is pulled up in a bun on the back of his head. Quill looks to Tony, offering him a smile.

“Before either of you say anything, let me preface this with something,” Quill starts, closing the door. “After… what happened over the weekend, I came with Pepper and Gamora and reported Rogers to McGonagall. Long story short, she immediately launched an investigation and talked to Christine and Rhodey and Madam Rosmerta. Clearly, she doesn’t stand for any of that shit, because the next morning she fired Rogers.”

Stephen’s eyebrows raise at that. His eyes flick over to Tony, who seems to be both shocked and relieved.

“I’m here to introduce you to his replacement,” Quill says, motioning to James. The other steps forward, a small grin crossing his face.

Stephen’s jaw drops. “She hired someone that quickly?”

“I’ve been gunning after Natasha’s job for years now,” James says. “I was McGonagall’s other choice, so I guess I was her first choice for an immediate replacement.” He turns to Tony. “We’ve already met, I believe,” he says to Tony, extending a hand out. Tony clasps and shakes it. “I’m James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Oh, you mean like your friend Steve Rogers?” Tony retorts.

Bucky pauses, pursing his lips. “He’s _not_ my friend anymore,” he says after a moment. “I never knew his stance on the LGBTQ community. It just never came up. And knowing that, I know he definitely wouldn’t want to be associated with ‘ _our_ kind.’” He uses air quotes for the last two words.

It’s almost ironic, Stephen realizes. Steve lost one friend for that reason as a child, and he lost another one as an adult. Closed-minded people must truly be the most miserable people on the planet.

Bucky steps over to Stephen, who shakes his hand. “Bucky. Nice to meet you.”

Stephen smiles halfheartedly. “Stephen Strange. I’m so sorry,” he says.

“So am I,” Bucky responds.

* * *

Elsewhere, the Great Library of Castelobruxo in Brazil is robbed.

One book is stolen.

An old, fraying collection of ancient, Dark magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I've always imagined the portrait in Stephen's office having the voice of JARVIS.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things are afoot at Hogwarts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're in the endgame now," y'all. After this, there's only one more chapter and the epilogue. Get ready for intense PLOT! Thank you all so much for your constant support of this story. I've got a couple more ironstrange fics in the works, and I am so excited to share them with you! One might even be posted very soon. And make sure to check out my ironstrange haunted house one shot! Enjoy!

“You need to go see Madam Pomfrey.”

Peter glances up from his barely touched porridge, wincing as another stab of pain shoots through his head. He’s eating breakfast before class with Wade, MJ, Shuri, and Rocket. He looks at Shuri, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Wade insists, placing a gentle hand over Peter’s own. “Your headaches have gotten so much worse.”

He’s almost halfway through his sixth year at Hogwarts. Christmas is just a few weeks away. And, he hates to admit it, but his friends are right. His headaches really _have_ gotten worse. They started during his third year. Slight, and very rare, but each time the pain was the same. Over time, they’ve become more frequent and even more painful. On top of that, the weird incidents that happen when his headaches get bad or when he gets emotional have gotten, well, weirder. There’re very few random Exploding Snap card explosions in the middle of the game or teacups flying across the room. Recently in Transfiguration class with Professor Barnes (who is _so_ much better at teaching than Professor Rogers ever was), they were reviewing a couple spells from their fifth year. Despite having transfigured a dinner plate to a mushroom quite easily last year, he was having a bit of trouble. He grew so frustrated, in fact, that when he finally did it, all of his classmates’ plates immediately transfigured into mushrooms, or vice versa. Other weird things had happened, such as when the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall became cloudy and gloomy after he and Wade had an argument, or when the Bludgers started chasing Gryffindor’s new seeker during a particularly frustrating Quidditch match.

Peter doesn’t know what to do now. He should probably tell his dads. But he knows he _definitely_ doesn’t want to go to the Hospital Wing.

“You’re terrible at hiding your pain,” MJ adds. “What is this, headache number four of the week? And it’s only Tuesday.”

Again, Peter shakes his head. “No, really, I’m— _AH_!” Another strike of pain shoots through his head. It feels like someone is drilling into his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut, riding through the agony. And, as usual, the pain ends as quickly as it began.

“Pete, I will drag you by your ears to Madam Pomfrey if you don’t go see her,” Rocket threatens, taking a bite of waffle.

“We care about you, Peter,” MJ says. “And I know Ned and Groot would agree with us if they were here.”

Pursing his lips, Peter huffs. He knows he’s defeated. But… he still doesn’t want to go to Madam Pomfrey. “I’ll tell my dads this weekend. They might know something. And if they don’t, _then_ I’ll go to Madam Pomfrey.”

MJ opens her mouth to protest, but Shuri shakes her head. There’s an odd moment where they stare into each other’s eyes for a second too long, as if having a silent conversation, but then Shuri turns to him. “Let us know what they say, Peter.”

His eyes flick between the two girls, curious. There’s something going on between them. He’s not sure what, but he definitely plans on getting to the bottom of it.

“Of course,” he says.

They finish breakfast, and then head their separate ways to class. Wade, as always, walks him there, making sure there’s enough time for him to get to his own. Peter currently has Care of Magical Creatures, while Wade’s in his N.E.W.T.-level Potions class. Their hands are clasped, but they don’t speak. Tensions still feel a bit high from breakfast.

“You know we’re just trying to help, right?” Wade asks, breaking the silence as they head down the corridor toward the castle grounds. “We care about you.”

Peter nods. “I know. Of course, I know. It’s just…” His voice trails off, but the words flow through his mind.

_I don’t want to be a burden._

“Just make sure you tell me what your dads say, okay?” Wade asks, glancing at him.

Peter meets his eyes and smiles softly. “I will.”

They return their gazes to the corridors in front of them, watching as younger students frantically run to their classes while others sit and relax in the hall. They pass a few groups of students sitting outside their classrooms studying. And of course, they walk by their fair share of snogging couples.

“So, what’s Hagrid got planned for you today?” Wade asks, dramatically swinging their intertwined hands between them.

“I think we’re reviewing more creatures that he can’t bring to class,” Peter predicts. “Basilisks, certain dragon breeds, acromantulas, erumpents…”

Wade smiles. “I wish I had taken that instead of Divination, but no, I got stuck with Professor Trelawney spouting off things I’ll never understand.”

“So glad I dropped that while I still had the chance,” Peter laughs. He’d given quite a compelling argument to Professor Banner, who is usually against switching electives after a student’s third year. However, given that he’d had such a hard time at Divination, Professor Banner made an exception. He was extremely grateful for that, because Hagrid had become one of his favorite people in the school.

“I’m forever jealous,” Wade says.

They eventually reach the end of the corridor and exit to the castle grounds. Peter spots smoke coming out of the chimney of Hagrid’s hut. He sees his dad teaching a class of first-years how to do a loop-de-loop on a broomstick. Some students are sitting around studying or practicing spells.

Merlin, sometimes he forgets just how amazing this place is.

“Right then, I’ll see you at lunch,” Wade says, turning toward Peter and taking his other hand in his larger one.

“Definitely,” Peter says, giving Wade’s fingers a squeeze. “Try not to give Professor Maximoff a heart attack with all your crazy antics.”

Wade chuckles. “No promises. We’re working on potion manipulation, and I’ve already accidently set three fires so far.”

Peter rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you, too,” Wade says, smiling. Wade raises his hands to cup Peter’s neck, bringing their lips together in a short but passionate kiss. When they break the kiss, their foreheads linger together, Peter unable to help the sheepish grin that crosses his lips. “I’ll see you later, Peter.” And, after a quick hug, they go their separate ways.

Readjusting his bookbag, Peter makes it down to the wooded area designated as the Care of Magical Creatures classroom (on days with good weather, that is). He spots Ned, who had some homework to work on and skipped breakfast, and Groot in the front row. Hagrid is nowhere to be seen just yet, so Peter takes his seat, chatting with Ned, Groot, and a few other students while they wait.

It’s when they’re on the strange topic of Muggle computers when Hagrid appears, dragging a chalkboard covered in scraggly handwriting behind him.

“Mornin’, class!” he exclaims, rubbing his hands together with excitement. “Sorry ta say I don’ have a creature today. Instead, we’ll be goin’ over the more dangerous creatures. Nasty ones that yeh never wanna get caught up with, best yeh start praying yeh know yer defensive spells. Now, firs’, we’ll be talkin’ ‘bout dragons. The Chinese Fireball…”

As Hagrid begins his lesson, a dull ache surfaces in the back of Peter’s skull. He tries to ignore it, continuing to take notes on dragon breeds, but the pain only grows. His ears begin to ring, and he finds himself wincing. Peter drops his quill, pressing his palms against his eyes. He swears he hears Ned whisper something to him, but he can’t process what it is because there’s so much agony—

And, as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Again. He raises his head, daring to glance at his peers. It seems that Groot and Ned were the only ones who noticed what had happened. Luckily, nothing seemed to explode or fly off into the distance, so Peter is grateful for that.

But… he’s also tired. Tired of these headaches and this pain and the unexplainable incidents that coincidentally keep happening at the same time as said headaches.

Peter decides, then and there. He wasn’t sure when he’d mentioned it at breakfast, but now he knows for sure. He’s telling his dads the next time he sees them both.

* * *

  _BANG!_

The commotion in the living room is enough to jolt Stephen out of a heavy, dreamless sleep. He isn’t quite sure if he’d imagined the noise until Fury starts barking at the foot of their bed, leaping off the mattress and bolting toward the door.

“Tony,” Stephen whispers, shaking his husband awake with one hand and reaching blindly for his wand on the bedside table with the other. “Anthony!” 

There was another crash in the living room. Stephen hops off the bed, throwing his pillow at Tony’s face. Tony sits up immediately, eyes barely open.

“Whassamatter?” Tony mumbles, his voice laced with sleep.

“Someone’s in the house!” Stephen whisper-yells.

That’s enough to get Tony out of bed. He grabs his wand, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

This is great, Stephen thinks. Two middle-aged wizards in boxers and thin shirts against whatever was invading their home.

Stephen walks to the door, grabbing the handle. “On three, we Stun.” Tony nods, bracing himself. “One, two—”

“Tony! Stephen!” Stephen feels one of his eyebrows raise in curiosity. Criminals usually wouldn’t go around shouting the names of the homeowners they’re robbing. Also, the voice sounded very familiar.

“Is that Banner?” Tony asks. 

Stephen shrugs. It could be, but it also could be someone who sounds similar to Banner. He’s not taking any chances. He opens the door, and Fury flies out, barking. He maintains a tight grip on his wand as he paces down the hall past Peter’s room. There’s a light switch just around the corner, so close that all Stephen has to do is reach around the wall. Stephen can barely make out Tony’s figure behind him, but he thinks he sees his husband nod.

He takes a deep breath, and they jump out into the living room. Stephen hits the light switch with his left hand, throwing his wand arm forward as a red light shoots out. Tony casts the same spell. The lights narrowly miss the person standing on the table in the dining room, looking frantic as Fury continues to bark and claw at the table’s legs.

“Hey, watch it!”

Stephen squints and sees that Tony was right.

“Banner? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Tony shouts.

“And how did you get in?” Stephen asks. “My Floo network shuts off at midnight!”

“First, can you please get your dog to calm down?” Tony calls for the dog, who immediately comes to them; Stephen can tell that Fury is still eyeing Banner suspiciously. Banner thanks them, hopping off the table. “I’m here because I asked Floo HQ to open the network for me. I tried sending a Patronus message, but I assumed you hadn’t gotten it since it’s the middle of the night. There’s been an emergency.”

Stephen feels his stomach turn. His muscles tense, and he can barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears when he asks, “Is it Peter?”

Banner looks around nervously, as if he’s scared to tell them the full details. “You need to come with me now.”

Tony has never actually seen the Ravenclaw common room.

Though he still prefers the dark, mysterious appearance of the Slytherin common room, he can’t help but be impressed by this one. The domed ceiling illuminating the room with galaxies and stars is stunning, giving the room a faint blue-purple hue. He sees the shelves of books lined along the walls and wonders how many Peter has read. The room is mostly empty, except for the boys in Peter’s year snoozing on the couches, the Ravenclaw Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, and Madam Pomfrey.

_If she’s here…what could have happened?_

Banner hadn’t told them much, just that whatever it was couldn’t really be described. He couldn’t even tell them if Peter was okay, which is why he’s been holding Stephen’s hand in a death grip since they’d Flooed here.

As they approach the sixth-year boys’ dormitory, Tony spots some familiar faces. McGonagall is there in her night robes. There are two figures Tony doesn’t recognize. One is a very young man, probably only a few years out of school, with bright blue wavy hair. The other looks to be around Tony’s age, with a head of messy black hair and circular glasses. As Tony gets closer, he spots a lightning-shaped scar on the man’s forehead.

What the  _fuck_  was Harry Potter doing here?

That only made Tony more fearful, more anxious, more concerned for his son. 

“What happened?” Stephen says, anger in his voice. “We haven’t been told anything! For all we know, our son is...” Stephen’s voice trails, breaking on the last word.

“Stephen, please stay calm,” McGonagall says. “He’s alive, but we can’t really explain what’s going on. We need you to go in there and talk to him.”

Okay, so Peter was alive. What was all the fuss about?

“I tried going in there while we were waiting for you,” Harry Potter says. “But, it’s like he’s keeping us out. We can’t get in.”

Tony nods. He looks to Stephen, his face grim, and they share a silent conversation. _What’s wrong with their boy?_

Stephen gives Tony’s hand a reassuring squeeze before they make their way to the door. He raises a fist to the door and knocks several times. “Peter? It’s Papa.”

“Dad’s here, too.” Tony gulps. “Can we come in?” He reaches for the door handle and turns it, giving it a hard push. It cracks open.

Tony turns back and sees looks of shock on everyone’s faces. Clearly, they’d already gotten further than anyone else had. The two of them step inside the room, and Tony’s jaw drops.

Everything in the room is elevated. _Everything_. All nine four-poster beds are floating in the air, each individual sheet peeled up like a layer. Some of the stones from the walls of the room have been ripped out and are hovering in the air. All of the students’ trunks are open, belongings suspended in midair. Everything, except Peter.

He’s huddled in a corner of the room, his knees drawn to his chest and his face pressed against them. Tony can spot the quick, uneven movement of his shoulders, and his heart breaks. It had been several years since he’d seen Peter cry, and even now, he just wants to take all the pain from his son.

“Peter?” Stephen says, shutting the door behind them. “Can we come to you?”

There’s silence. Stephen looks to Tony, who nods. They carefully take a step. Nothing happens. They take another step. So far, so good. Another—

“Tony!” Stephen yells, pointing his wand over Tony’s shoulder and shouting, “ _Confringo!”_ Tony just barely has time to turn before a light shoots out of Stephen’s wand and hits one of the floating stones that was flying toward him, exploding in midair and raining fine bits of gravel on his feet.

Tony turns to Peter, who hasn’t moved. “Peter? It’s your dads.”

Finally,  _finally_ , Peter raises his head. And, _oh_ , the longing and confusion and pain and sorrow that is etched on his face... He looks so small and fragile. Tony stifles a sob. The last thing he wants is for his son to be in pain.

“Dad? Papa?” Peter whispers, so quietly Tony isn’t even sure if he’d imagined it. “I don’t feel so good.”

Tony dares to take another step. Nothing happens. He takes another one, Stephen on his tail. “You’re all right,” Tony says. They’re almost to him.

“My head _hurts_ —I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter says. He stares at his shaking hands, and Tony can see tear tracks on his cheeks. “I don’t know—I don’t know what to—”

At that moment, Peter breaks down again, stuffing his hands under his arms and curling in on himself. Each and every sob rakes at Tony’s heart. _Fuck being careful_. His son needs him, and if he gets hurt in the process of trying to reach him, then so be it. He lets go of Stephen’s hand and closes the space between himself and Peter in just a few large steps. He sits by his side, carefully embraces him. Peter doesn’t protest, instead wrapping his arms around Tony’s chest and sobbing into his robe. 

Tony strokes his son’s back, pressing his face to Peter’s hair and closing his eyes. What pain, what fear is his boy facing? He feels an arm on his shoulder and looks up, seeing Stephen wrap his other arm around Peter, and he draws them in. Tony finds himself staring at the room, at the floating objects and projectile stones.

How could Peter have done this? He’s only a sixth-year student, sixteen years old, there’s no way—

Realization hits him like a ton of bricks. He looks to Stephen, wondering if he too has forgotten what happened all those years ago, when Peter was but just a few years old. How could he have forgotten?

If Tony is right, they could be in for a heap of trouble.

* * *

 “Peter, would you like some tea?”

Peter doesn’t glance up from his lap, but Stephen sees a small nod in response. He rises from the soft sofa he’s sharing with Tony and Peter and heads over to a corner of the room, casting a quick Patronus. “Could you please bring tea to McGonagall’s office? Enough for”—he glances around the room for a quick headcount—“seven people.” The Labrador nods and pounces away, heading for the kitchens.

Looking out the windows in McGonagall’s office, he sees that the sun is starting to peek out over the horizon. It’s been a very stressful night, to say the least. It seemed like Tony and Stephen held Peter in the dormitory for hours before his tears finally subsided; as he calmed down, Stephen noticed that the furniture and other items in the room were slowly dropping back down to the ground. By the time he had stopped crying, everything was hovering barely an inch above the cobblestone floor. As they exited the room, Stephen heard the items in the room hit the floor. Harry Potter admitted he’d never seen anything like it. McGonagall escorted the group (including the Head Boy and Girl) to her office, summoning the other Heads of Houses.

She’d asked the Heads of Houses to post notices in their House common rooms explaining that both Stephen and Tony’s classes would be cancelled for the remainder of the week. (After seeing how Peter was clinging to Stephen as though his life depended on it, she asked the Head Girl to take on the task for Slytherin.) The Head Boy was sent to tell the remainder of Peter’s professors that he wouldn’t be in class again until Monday.

Now, they’re just waiting. Quill was the only Head of House who stuck around; Bruce had to attend to the other boys in Peter’s year, and Longbottom had a new baby at home to care for. Stephen’s grateful that Quill stayed. He’s known Peter for the boy’s entire life; considering Quill is Peter’s godfather, Stephen would have been offended if Quill had left. At the moment, Quill is standing near McGonagall’s desk, examining the portraits of previous Headmasters. Tony is still on the couch. Their son is wrapped in a Ravenclaw blanket, his head down. McGonagall, Harry Potter, and the young man (who Stephen later learned was Teddy Lupin, Harry’s apprentice and godson) are speaking in a private room in her office.

Harry Potter had given them a brief update during the chaos of posting notices and such. He mentioned that after speaking to the other boys, they were able to piece a bit of the story together, but there were still some things they were unsure of. Apparently, one of the boys woke up because Peter was thrashing in bed and crying out, seemingly having a nightmare. A couple of other boys had woken up too, and they eventually decided that Ned, being Peter’s best friend, should try to wake him up. However, as Ned was pushing his quilts off, Peter screamed. All of the boys suddenly appeared the common room, except Peter. Ned and a few others went back to the dormitory to check on Peter but discovered the door was locked, with Peter still making scared noises inside. That’s when they panicked and alerted Banner.

They’d all tried to get Peter to talk to them, but it resulted in almost nothing. Peter barely spoke above a whisper, but Stephen caught a few words and phrases. Something about headaches, odd happenings, things that have occurred since his third year.

Stephen thinks he might be the worst parent in the world. How did he not notice Peter was in such chronic pain? Did Peter not trust him or Tony enough to tell them?

He feels terrible. Drained. Worse than he’s felt in months.

There’s a loud creaking from outside the door, and the door swings open. A grinning House Elf steps inside, carrying a tray with a steaming teapot, seven cups and saucers, tea bags, milk, sugar, and little croissants with eggs, sausage, and cheese. The elf walks to the table in front of Peter, setting the tray down. He looks up at Peter and pats his leg, resulting in a small grin from the boy.

“Thank you,” Stephen says to the elf as he passes him. The elf smiles and walks out the door.

Stephen heads back to the couch, pouring the hot water into four of the cups and placing a tea bag in each one.

“Stephen, can I talk to you?” Tony says, rising to his feet.

“Sure.” Stephen stands and follows Tony to a corner of the room, passing by Quill and asking him to keep an eye on Peter. Stephen hears Quill sit beside the boy, offering a croissant and asking how he likes his tea.

Tony glances over Stephen’s shoulder at Peter. “I think I know what caused this,” Tony says.

That catches Stephen’s attention. “Really? What is it?”

His husband sighs, running a hand across his face. “Oh, so you don’t remember either. Great, we’re both terrible parents.” The blank look on Stephen’s face must give it away. “Remember when Peter was young? I mean, _really_ young? Remember all the weird things that he was able to do? His injury? The Ministry?”

At first, Stephen truly doesn’t know what Tony is talking about. It’s when Tony mentions the Ministry that it hits him. He’s taken aback, flashes of worry, pain, tears, and later joy fill his mind. _Everything_ comes back to him.

_How could he forget?_

“The mind block,” Stephen breathes.

“Something’s happening to it.” Tony looks toward Peter again; he can hear Quill talking to Peter, trying to get him to laugh. “We have to tell him.”

Stephen’s eyebrows raise. “What? No! Didn’t they say we shouldn’t tell—”

“Look at him!” Tony says, gesturing to their son. “He’s scared. He has no idea why this is happening. He’s in pain.” The last word drops to a whisper. Stephen can see Tony’s eyes glistening. His husband pulls him into a hug. “He deserves to know,” Tony whispers in his ear.

Stephen wraps his arms around Tony, nodding into his shoulder. “Okay,” he breathes. “You’re right.”

Tony is the first to pull from the hug. He takes Stephen’s hands in his own, giving them a proper, reassuring squeeze. Stephen grins.

They’ll get through this together, as always.

The two turn to head back to the couch, and Stephen notices that McGonagall, Harry Potter, and Teddy Lupin are just walking into the room. _So much for privacy._ Stephen can hear Quill trying to make Peter laugh, yet there’s virtually no response from the boy. Quill spots them walking over and rises, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the couch. The two of them take their spots on the sofa by Peter once again; Stephen fixes himself a cup of tea.

“Well,” Harry Potter starts, “after some discussion, we’ve decided that we need to notify the parents of the sixth year Ravenclaw boys of what happened tonight.”

“Whoa, wait,” Stephen says, “shouldn’t we have some say in this? What happened to student’s privacy?”

Teddy clears his throat. “With all due respect, sir, we are asking for this because this was a situation that could have resulted in injury. Parents need to know what happened. We won’t be giving all the details. Just what’s necessary.”

Stephen opens his mouth to protest, but a hand touches his leg. He glances down to see Peter looking up at him. “It’s okay, Papa. It’s fine.” His voice sounds so small that any remark Stephen had is swallowed.

“We actually have something that we need to share with Peter. And the only reason that you three”—he points to McGonagall, Harry Potter, and Teddy—“get to hear it is so you realize that our son is not a criminal or crazy or anything like that.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

Stephen locks eyes with Tony, who nods. “Peter,” Stephen starts, placing a hand on his shoulder, “there’s something we’ve been keeping from you. It was for your safety, but we know now we were wrong for keeping it from you.” Stephen lets out a long sigh and begins. “Young wizards and witches start to show signs of magic around seven or eight years of age. Usually, these are small things. They can cause small objects to hover, make things disappear, change the color of something. They can do a lot, especially if they’re upset or stressed.”

“Heck, a few times I made my hair grow back overnight after a horrible haircut from my aunt,” Harry Potter pipes in. Tony rolls his eyes.

“Point is, underage magical children can’t really control what they can do,” Stephen continues. “But you, Peter, you were showing signs of magic at just a few months old. And sometimes, you were showing _controlled_ magic.”

“There was one time when you were probably about six months old,” Tony says. “You weren’t really taking to baby food yet, so we were still giving you bottles. By that point, you could hold it up without our help. You were sitting on Stephen’s lap, and the two of us really got into our conversation. I looked down and noticed that you were still drinking from your bottle, but you weren’t holding it. Stephen wasn’t holding it. It was literally floating by itself in midair, and it would tilt on its own when needed.”

“Another time, you were really unhappy with us. You were probably about a year old. I think you were upset because both of us had our hands full and couldn’t hold you. Peter, you started waving your arms and screamed, and all the windows in the living room broke. Scared the hell out of us.” Stephen takes a quick sip of his tea. “We were a bit worried, but we decided to wait it out. There were a few more little things that happened, but they weren’t worrisome. The next incident is what drove us to find answers. This happened a year after the last one. We had put you down for your nap, but I kept hearing commotion from your room. I found you out of your toddler bed playing with some toys. Of course, I knew that if you didn’t have your nap, you wouldn’t fall asleep that night, so I put away all of your toys in your toybox and put you back to bed. It wasn’t but maybe ten minutes later that there was a loud crash from your room, and you started screaming.” Stephen shudders as he recalls that day; the pained, agonizing scream carved itself into his memory. “Your toybox was on the other side of the room, and toys were all over the floor. We think that, somehow, you tried to open your toybox using magic, and when it did open, all of your toys came flying out. Some of the drawers from your dresser flew out as well. One of them hit you on the head. You were bleeding, and there was a knot forming.”

Tony continues. “We took you to St. Mungo’s. I don’t think we’ve ever Flooed anywhere faster in our lives. They fixed you right up. There was some slight head trauma, but by the time we were preparing to leave, you were good as new. They’d given you a stuffed dragon to calm you down while they worked, and you were our happy boy again. One of the Healers asked us what happened, and that’s when we decided to tell them about your magic and all these weird incidents. She left and brought back the Head Healer, and after telling her the same story, she asked us to join her in her office. She gave us an envelope and told us to give it to one of the receptionists at the Ministry of Magic, and they’d know what to do from there. We didn’t hesitate. We Flooed straight there. Sure enough, the receptionist took one look at the envelope and led us down to a place I never thought I’d see: The Department of Mysteries.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise at that. “Wait, like, _the_ Department of Mysteries?”

Stephen chuckles halfheartedly. “Yes, that one. Unfortunately, we are sworn to secrecy about exactly what’s in there. The woman who helped you out wouldn’t let us leave unless we swore to never tell anyone any specific details. But, we can tell you the diagnosis, treatment, and results. Basically, after a series of tests were run, the woman discovered that you had magical abilities that were growing at an exponential rate. She said that even as they were conducting tests, they noticed signs of more power. She told us that having this amount of power, especially as young as you were, could be extremely dangerous. She said this power was so strong that, if it was allowed to keep growing, it could manifest a personality of its own and completely take over your mind. You’d be like a prisoner in your own body, watching your body do whatever the magic wants to do. She suggested one thing: to put a block on your mind. Magic is connected to a part of the brain. That’s what allows us as wizards and witches to see and do what Muggles can’t. This block wouldn’t take all your magic, but it would keep the growing parts stifled, like in a comatose state. So that’s what we did. She put the block in, and from then you really didn’t show signs of magic until the normal age.” Stephen clears his throat. “But something is happening with the block. It’s… coming down somehow.”

There are a few minutes of silence. Stephen hasn’t taken his eyes off of Peter, but he can’t get a good read on what he’s thinking. Finally, Teddy speaks. “Question. If the mind block is breaking, couldn’t you go back to the Department of Mysteries and have them repair it?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, from what I remember, she said this kind of spell can only be performed when the witch or wizard is very young, like toddler-age. What she did is a very risky, rare, difficult kind of magic. She said performing the spell on anyone older than that could be extremely dangerous to their mental state.”

Someone scoffs. Stephen realizes it was Peter, who is glancing between him and Tony, a bewildered look on his face. “Wait a minute, so you agreed to have some stranger perform a dangerous spell on me? When I was a defenseless child?”

“Peter,” Tony says, taking one of their son’s hands in his own, “you have to understand. We were scared. We were scared for ourselves as a family. We were scared for _you_. We did what we thought was right.”

“But I was a kid!” Peter shouts, yanking his hand from Tony’s grasp. “You’ve kept this from me my entire life! Look at it now. Whatever you let them put inside my head is falling completely apart! All of these weird things that have happened over the past few years, things flying across the room, random explosions, it all makes sense and it all scares me.” He puts his head in his hands, his voice cracking as he asks, “What’s gonna happen now? I have no control over it.”

Stephen hears his boy try to stifle a sob, and it just about pushes him over the edge. “Peter, we were doing what we thought was best for you. We couldn’t tell you about it. We were told that if you knew of the block, it could bring it down. You might’ve become curious, tried to channel that magic. Then… we could’ve lost you.”

“We don’t know why this is happening,” Tony says, “but your papa and I will be here every step of the way. We want to help, but we can’t if you won’t let us.”

Peter looks up at that, a couple of tears streaming down his cheeks. “I was going to tell you. I was planning on telling you this weekend, at our Sunday tea. I’m _so_ sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s okay, Peter,” Stephen says.

Tony nods, agreeing with his husband. A sudden hush falls over the room, an odd vibe in the air.

“I’ll be here too, Peter,” says Quill, breaking the awkward silence. “Always.”

McGonagall grins. “I will, too.”

Even Harry Potter chimes in, saying, “We may have only just met, but Teddy and I definitely have your back.”

Tears almost rise to Stephen’s eyes. He takes Peter’s hand; Tony takes the other. “See, Pete?” Stephen says. “We’re all here for you. Whatever you go through, you won’t be alone. We’ll be here.”

Peter nods, pursing his lips as another tear slides down his face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Tony makes eye contact with Stephen, and the two of them wrap their arms around Peter; Stephen wishes he could shield Peter from the world, from the unimaginable power that might lay inside his mind. He doesn’t know what may lie ahead, but he knows the three of them will be together and triumph through it all, as always.

“Thank you,” Peter breathes, and Stephen swears that, in their embrace, he feels Peter smile.

* * *

 Tony lets loose an exaggerated yawn as he walks into the kitchen, groaning so loudly that Stephen jumps.

“Jesus, Tony, don’t scare me like that,” he says, flipping bacon in the skillet.

With a sigh, Tony steps toward his husband, wrapping his arms around Stephen’s waist from behind and resting his head on his shoulder, watching him work. “Why does morning have to come so quickly?” he asks.

“Why do you still sleep in like a teenager?” Stephen chuckles. “You’re the only adult I know who can still sleep until ten every morning.”

“Sleeping is a skill that I value,” Tony responds. “And it’s the weekend, so I should be able to sleep as late as I want.”

Stephen hums in agreement, returning to the bacon.

It had been a couple of weeks since they’d told Peter about the mind block. He had come home for a few days, and by the middle of the week, he’ll be home for Christmas. There were a couple of odd incidents while he was home, but nothing crazy. He seemed to be a bit clingier to him and Stephen than usual. Peter wanted to sit between them on the couch when they’d watched a couple movies. He was following them around like a shadow. It was concerning, but since he’d returned to school, things seemed pretty normal. He and Stephen told Peter to let them know every time there was an incident. So far, there’d only been two, and they were very minor.

Tony lets go of Stephen’s waist and moves toward the kettle on the stove, filling it with water and turning the proper burner on. He’s just about to sit when he glances out the window and spots an owl flying toward their home.

“Oh, the post is here,” Tony says.

“Let me know if there’s anything from my sister,” Stephen says. “She said she’d send some photos from her trip to Prague.”

Tony opens the window as the owl flies up, dropping a newspaper and a couple of envelopes into Tony’s outstretched hand. The bird squawks before turning and flying away. Tony flicks through the mail, setting _The Daily Prophet_ aside, when one envelope catches his eye.

“Stephen, were you expecting anything from the Ministry?” Tony asks. He turns the envelope over, finding the word _URGENT_ in red ink below the wax seal.

“No…” Stephen takes the bacon from the skillet and joins Tony by the window. Tony quickly opens the letter, sets the envelope aside, unfolds the paper and begins to read. He can feel Stephen hovering over his shoulder.

_Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, and Peter Stark-Strange,_

_Your presence is requested at your earliest convenience. Confidential information has been compromised. This could affect you or your loved ones. If any of the aforementioned persons are minors or in school, they are not required to attend._

_Please come to the Ministry of Magic and present this letter to the front desk clerk. You will then be directed through the proper channels to learn if you were affected by this breach._

_Sincerely,_

_Matilda Howell_

_Receptionist_

_The Ministry of Magic_

Tony doesn’t notice that Stephen has already unfolded _The Daily Prophet._ He skims the first article on the front page.

**_SECURITY BREACH AT THE MINISTRY. RECORDS COMPROMISED._ **

He doesn’t need to read anymore. Stephen sets the newspaper down, turning his head to meet Tony’s eyes, confusion and worry written clear on his face.

“You don’t think…?” Stephen starts.

“Only one way to find out,” Tony says.

They quickly finish up breakfast and get dressed, making sure to feed Fury and May before they Floo to the Ministry. The Ministry is fairly quiet on weekends, so they don’t have to wait long before seeing the receptionist.

“Matilda?” Tony asks. The young woman behind the counter smiles. “We received this today.” He hands her the letter.

“Ah,” she says, her eyes moving quickly as she reads the letter. “And I assume your son isn’t here because he is at school?” They nod. Matilda steps out from behind her desk. “Please come with me.”

She takes them to an office on the second floor, pausing just outside the door. “Wait here one moment.” She quickly knocks and steps inside.

Tony feels Stephen take his hand. He looks to his husband, managing a small smile. “Whatever this is,” Tony says, “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

At that moment, Matilda steps out of the office, a woman who looks to be a few years older than them in tow. “Oh, you must be Tony Stark and Stephen Strange! I’m Gemma Dawson, receptionist for the Department of Mysteries. Won’t you come in?” She beckons them inside; Tony notices Matilda slip away, making her way to the elevator.

Ms. Dawson’s office is small and a bit chaotic, with papers and folders and knickknacks stored everywhere; there’s not even an empty space on her desk. Tony knows that if they weren’t in such a dire situation, Stephen would be having a fit.

“Sorry for the mess, loves,” Ms. Dawson says, sitting behind her desk. Tony and Stephen sit in the old chairs across from her. “They recently moved me from the actual Department of Mysteries to this tiny office space. Something about not wanting people going to the ninth floor, even to talk to me. Guess it ruins the mystery,” she chuckles. “But anyway, you aren’t here to hear me complain, so I’ll get right to it.

“Last night, there was a break-in. _The Daily Prophet_ won’t tell you this, but they broke into the Records Department specifically for the Department of Mysteries. The DM keeps their records separate from others; again, something about the mystery, I assume. But they took the records pertaining to magical mind blocks. This included your son’s file, which contained everything documenting the diagnosis and the treatment and the final results.”

Tony feels his stomach turn; he suddenly feels nauseous.

“Now, the reason I believe you need to be concerned is because, of all the wizards and witches that have been given a mind block, Peter is the only one who is still alive. In fact, he’s the first one the Department had given in about seventy years.”

Stephen inhales deeply. Tony’s heart is racing. “So, what does this mean for Peter?” Stephen asks.

Ms. Dawson smiles. “Well, we do have the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the case, but in the meantime, just keep an eye out. Make sure he isn’t around people he doesn’t know, check in with him. And as soon as they finish their investigation, we will let you know, and he’ll be in the clear.”

“Make sure our teenage son stays out of trouble? Got it,” Tony says, giving Stephen’s leg a reassuring pat. “I mean, he’s at Hogwarts. It’s the safest place in the world. He’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> famous last words, Tony. prepare yourselves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter before the epilogue. What will happen to Peter's mind block?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter before the epilogue. This is another chapter that I've had written for months, and I am so excited for y'all to finally read it. Enjoy!

“So, Wade, Ned tells me you’ve got quite the date planned for tonight,” Peter says with a grin. Wade has him by the hand, practically dragging him down the halls to what Peter is sure is a forbidden tunnel underneath the castle. He figures Wade might be taking him to Hogsmeade, even though it’s definitely not a Hogsmeade weekend.

“First of all, I’m gonna kick Ned’s arse for saying anything about it,” Wade says over his shoulder. “Second”—he stops and turns toward Peter, nearly causing the boy to run right into his boyfriend—“yes, it will be quite the date. Maybe the best date I’ve ever planned.” He leans down and plants a quick kiss on the tip of Peter’s nose; Peter’s cheeks turn pink before Wade turns and drags him back down the hall again.

“We should go on a double date with MJ and Shuri soon,” Peter suggests.

“Are you kidding?” Wade says. “They’re such a power couple. We’d be doomed.”

Peter laughs. Not long after Christmas, MJ and Shuri had asked to meet him in private. He met them in an empty classroom late one evening. It was there that they came out to him, MJ as bi (just like him) and Shuri as lesbian. _And_ they told him they’d been dating since September. Peter almost _cried_ as they talked to him. (He won’t admit it, but he did shed a tear or two when they were done, and he pulled them into a hug.) They slowly came out to the rest of their group, and now, they’re out to the entire school. Peter will never forget the joy on their faces as they left the Ravenclaw common room hand in hand for the first time. MJ had mentioned the four of them going on a double date, and Peter couldn’t get the idea out of his head. With Wade graduating from Hogwarts in just a few short months, Peter wants to do as much as he can with his boyfriend.

Wade leads him down into the dungeons, passing the entrance to the Slytherin common room before stopping in front of an ancient-looking door. “Is there anyone coming?” Peter turns and sees the hall is empty and shakes his head. Wade quickly opens the door and ushers Peter inside. It’s pitch black until Wade mutters, “ _Lumos_!” and the room is suddenly illuminated with the light from the tip of Wade’s wand.

The broom closet is disgusting. It looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. The cleaning supplies lining the shelves have a layer of dust at least an inch thick. Something thick sits inside a bucket on the floor, emitting the putrid smell of rotten eggs.

“Please tell me this isn’t where we’re going,” Peter says, his nose wrinkling.

Wade laughs. “Absolutely not. I want to treat you, love.” He holds up his wand and is about to mutter another spell when Peter holds up a hand, placing it gently on the tip; the light gleams between his fingers.

“Am I dressed okay?” Peter asks. Tony had taken Peter clothes shopping during their last Christmas break; the two of them had spent hours combing over brightly-colored pants and a variety of jumpers. Peter had decided on black blazer over a loose royal blue T-shirt, lightly-distressed black jeans, and a pair of black suede ankle boots.

“Are you kidding?” Wade says, pulling his wand out from Peter’s grip and resting his hands on Peter’s hips. “I feel like I’m underdressed compared to you. You’re gorgeous.” Wade had selected a very “Wade” outfit; black jeans and a dark grey sweater. It was still a bit chilly around Hogwarts and its grounds, being the middle of March, yet Wade had still rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Wade points his wand to the wall directly to Peter’s left and says, “ _Revelio_!” The wall suddenly shimmers, becoming slightly transparent as a downward staircase reveals itself under the light from Wade’s wand. _Of course, Wade knows all the secret tunnels._ He smiles, taking Peter’s hand and gently pulling him along down the stairs. “Besides, with all this mind block stuff that’s been happening lately, I figured you could use a nice distraction. Who better to distract you than your boyfriend?”

Peter can’t help but smile too, letting his boyfriend lead the way. The outbursts caused by the mind block have gotten steadily worse and more frequent since Tony and Stephen told him about it. One day in Potions class, he grew so frustrated trying to brew the Draught of Living Death that every single potion in the classroom exploded in puffs of red smoke and black liquid; Professor Maximoff about had an aneurysm seeing the liquid death scattered on the tables and the walls. Just days later, there was another Exploding Snap incident. He was playing with Wade, Ned, Shuri, MJ, Rocket, and Groot in the courtyard. One of the cards exploded directly in Groot’s face, leaving Groot’s eyebrows half-singed; Peter thought it was absolutely hilarious, laughing so hard that the cards flew up into the air and exploded all at once. Peter had noticed that at the beginning when the strange things started occurring, each outburst happened when his emotions were running high; now, sometimes even using the wrong tone of voice could cause something unexplained to happen.

It was all very worrying to him; what might happen if his emotions get the best of him? His headaches are getting steadily worse. He can actually feel the mind block chipping away, piece by piece. His dads had warned him that the magic being withheld in his mind could actually take over his mind, creating its own persona. They were still doing all they could to find some way to keep that from happening. He’s tried a bunch of different things, including mediation exercises, but nothing seems to be working.

Sometimes, Peter lays in bed and wonders how much longer he has before the mind block is gone, withered away to dust. He ponders if he’ll still be himself, or if he’ll cease to exist.

Wade suddenly stops, causing Peter to run right into his back.

“What’s—” Peter starts, but his boyfriend interrupts.

“I can tell you’re distracted, thinking about that mind block again,” Wade says. He grasps both of Peter’s hands in his own. “You can forget about that when you’re with me. I’m not afraid of it, and I’m not afraid of you. When you’re with me, you’re safe.” He brings Peter’s hands to his lips, giving his knuckles a kiss. Peter feels a hot blush rise to his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Peter says.

Wade grins. “Besides, with the exciting things I have planned for us tonight, that mind block will be the least of your worries.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” a new, unfamiliar voice says.

Peter and Wade whip toward the voice, reaching for their wands when two red lights fly out from the darkness, hitting both of them. Peter sees only red in his vision as he falls, landing hard on his left side as a jolt of pain shoots up his arm to his shoulder; the back of his head hits the ground, _hard_. _A Stunning Spell._ He can’t move, can’t look to see if Wade is okay, can’t really even focus because he can feel his consciousness slipping away. The panic in his mind only increases as two dark shadows loom over him.

Then… there’s nothing.

* * *

“So, one of the students in my Advanced Flying classes dared me to eat a worm today.”

Stephen’s head shoots up from where he was scrubbing a desk. It’s Friday, and he asked Tony to help him with some cleanup in the Charms classroom. Unfortunately, several first years set their feathers on fire that day while practicing the levitation spell, and he didn’t want the House Elves to clean up that mess. He decided to make an evening of it and get some spring-cleaning in. He has already straightened up the storage room and his office.

“You didn’t,” he says, low.

Tony smirks. “I absolutely one hundred percent did.”

Stephen gags. “Are you fucking serious?” Tony bursts out laughing. “I fucking _kissed_ you today!”

“I know you did,” Tony says through fits of laughter. Stephen chucks the sponge he’s holding at Tony’s head, which only causes his husband to laugh harder.

“God, you’re sleeping on the couch for that,” Stephen says. He holds out his wand and says, “ _Accio_ sponge!” The sponge comes flying back at him; he catches it and gets back to work scrubbing some soot marks from the desk.

Tony saunters over to him, a smug grin on his face. “I hope you know I’m only teasing.”

Stephen says nothing, focusing on the suds on the desk. If there’s one thing he knows about Tony, it’s that his husband doesn’t back away from a challenge.

“You can even smell my breath if you want. There’s no wormy breath to be found.”

This time, Stephen does look up, rolling his eyes and dropping the sponge. “Anthony Edward Stark, why on _Earth_ would I—”

There’s a loud bang as the door bursts open, and in stumbles a frantic-looking Wade Wilson. Stephen knows something is off immediately, based on the nasty scrape on his arm and the dirt covering his clothes. There are tear tracks running down his cheeks from red-rimmed eyes, and his cut lip is trembling.

Stephen glances to Tony, who looks as concerned as Stephen feels. “Mister Wilson?” Stephen asks. “It’s the weekend, almost ten o’clock on a Friday night. Is something the matter?”

Wade’s eyes finally meet Stephen’s, and the man can see a storm of sorrow and confusion brewing in the blue irises. “It’s Peter,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

Stephen’s blood runs cold. “W-what about Peter?”

A couple more tears slip from Wade’s eyes, his lips pursing.

“Wade?” Tony says, his voice shaking. “What about Peter?”

When Wade speaks again, Stephen almost doesn’t hear it. But he processes what his student said, and his muscles turn to ice.

“He’s gone.”

* * *

Muffled voices are the first thing Peter registers as he comes to.

The next thing he realizes is that he can’t move.

Not because of the Stunning Spell; Peter finds he can wiggle his toes in his shoes—he also realizes he’s lost one of his shoes. No, Peter can feel that he is laying on a hard surface, and his arms and legs are tied down, preventing him from moving.

As the voices become clearer, he dares to open his eyes.

He can’t see much from where he’s being held down, but he can tell he’s in the middle of what appears to be a vast, hilly field, the main source of light coming from the full moon above. There is a group of dark figures just several yards away, deep in conversation. Another figure sits on the ground near them, reading something from an ancient book by wandlight. He doesn’t see Wade anywhere, which gives him relief for just a moment before he processes the situation.

_Where am I? And where is Wade?_

Panic starts to set in, his heart pounding in his chest. He tries to turn his head as his breathing quickens, looking for any identifying landmarks so he can figure out where he is. He finds that he can’t see much without having to turn his head at a weird, painful angle. Peter lays his head back down, but he can’t seem to stop shaking or breathing very heavily. He realizes he’s probably starting to have a panic attack.

“Ah, the boy is awake!” shouts a high-pitched, female voice.

“’Bout bloody time.” Peter recognizes this voice from the tunnel.

The group congregates toward him, including the figure with the book, and Peter panics. “Help!” he screams. “Please, someone help!”

There’s a loud cackle. “No one can hear you, boy,” says another woman. “Don’t bother.”

Peter hates crying. Not because it’s “not manly” or whatever. He just hates it. He hates the feelings associated with crying: sadness and guilt and anger. But most of all, he hates fear. And fear is exactly what causes his eyes to fill with tears.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, his voice cracking as the crowd surrounds him.

“Oh, child, we don’t want you,” says another man. “We want what’s in that head of yours.” A grimy, dirty finger touches his forehead, and Peter bites back a scream. “See, you’re the only person alive with an immensely powerful magical mind, so powerful that it had to be contained,” he continues. “According to that file of yours, your mind might be the most powerful in history.”

“Who are you?” Peter dares to ask.

There’s a pause. “The name’s Toomes. Was a Death Eater, but the damn Ministry could never find me. Not that you’ll get to tell anyone. We’ll just kill you if our plan fails.”

Something slams on the table, causing Peter to jump and the group to laugh. “Luckily, we may have discovered a spell that can help us remove that block in your mind and unleash your full powers.”

“Powers that we plan to utilize. Your magic has been comatose for a long time. It will be very easily influenced once it is released. We want to be the ones to turn your magic Dark.”

“It’s about time another Dark Wizard rose,” Toomes says. The group cheers.

No, no, no, _no, no, this can’t be happening._ Peter isn’t ready. He isn’t ready to lose his mind, to lose himself, to become a prisoner trapped in his own mind.

He isn’t ready to die.

“Please,” he whispers. The group quiets down again. “Please, don’t do this. You don’t understand the dangers and risks that come with it. I’ve nearly hurt people already, I don’t want to hurt you, too. Please, _please_ don’t—”

“Oh, do _shut up_ ,” a woman says. She raises her hand and brings it down hard, smacking Peter’s cheek so hard it throbs and tears well in his eyes. “We know exactly what we’re doing.”

Another woman holds out a dark cloth, handing it to Toomes, who is now standing directly behind Peter’s head. “This should keep him quiet.”

“No, no, _please—_ ” His head his roughly thrown forward, and the part of the cloth is shoved in his mouth, cutting his protests off. The cloth is tied behind his head, and his head is pushed back down on the table, hitting the knot hard.

“All right, Ann, I think he’s ready for you,” Toomes says.

“Excellent.” The woman holding the book earlier steps forward, taking the place of Toomes.

Peter has never felt so alone. If these are truly his last moments, what a horrible way to go. He’s off in some random location, no help anywhere near him, no loved ones by his side, likely about to endure unimaginable pain. Rather than thinking about the present, he thinks about his past, his memories. He sees his friends. MJ, Shuri, Ned, Rocket, Groot, Thor, and T’Challa. He remembers relaxing with them in the courtyard one spring day a couple of years ago, talking about life and classes and throwing around harmless insults here and there. He thinks of his grandparents, how despite their hair growing white and wrinkles increasing each time Peter sees them, there’s a light in their eyes that never dulls. He thinks of his Uncle Quill and Aunt Gamora, his godparents, of their playful relationship, how Uncle Quill would always think of mischievous activities and tell him not to tell his dads about it when things went terribly wrong. He thinks about their kids, Daniel and Nova, how Daniel will be starting school at Hogwarts soon, and how Nova is the spitting image of Aunt Gamora with Uncle Quill’s quirky personality. He remembers the first time he saw Wade, a cute blonde boy now nearly a man, growing better with age. He thinks of when Wade shared stories of his past with him, of when they went on their first date after his breakup with Gwen, of those times when he would invite Wade to the library with him and Wade would sneak kisses and hold his hand when Madam Pince wasn’t looking. He pictures his blue eyes, how they resembled a raging sea that Peter could get lost in forever. Finally, he thinks of his dads. His best friends. The two people in the world who made him who he is today. He thinks of Stephen, his Papa, of his calm demeanor and kind eyes. He remembers the times when he would find Stephen reading a book in the office, and he would climb into his lap with a picture book of his own and read with him. He remembers going to Honeyduke’s when it was just the two of them, fillings bags with candy and going home and stuffing themselves sick with sweets. He thinks of the long, serious talks they would have about life. He thinks of Tony, his Dad, of his loud contagious laughter and ever-present smile. He thinks of the times he would watch his dad play Quidditch, staring at him in awe as though nothing could stop him. He remembers the day that Tony helped him fly on a broom for the very first time. He remembers the times they would put together elaborate pranks to pull on Stephen. He remembers the look of pride on Tony’s face after his first Hogwarts Quidditch game.

Peter sees their faces in his mind. Stephen’s hair and goatee have started to grey on the edges; same with Tony’s. There are laugh lines around their eyes that weren’t there when he was younger. But they’re the same, wonderful dads he’s always known.

He wishes he could tell them he loves them one last time.

“Let’s begin, then.”

Tears fall from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. He closes them, envisioning his dads’ faces behind his closed lids.

Two dirty hands touch the sides of his head, and Peter suddenly knows nothing but pain.

* * *

Tony has never felt so numb.

Not when he decided to cut Steve Rogers from his life. Not when Peter hurt himself all those years ago, resulting in he and Stephen trying to find a way to help their son. Not when he and Stephen had an argument in the days following Tony’s injury, an argument so bad that they didn’t speak to each other for nearly a week. Not when he was told he was being let go by the Cannons. Not when Steve Rogers confronted him in the Three Broomsticks last year about their failed friendship.

No, this is a whole new level of numb that he’s never felt before.

It had been three days since Wade stumbled into Stephen’s classroom, announcing that Peter was missing. They notified McGonagall, who contacted the Ministry, and they searched for what seemed like hours. Harry Potter, Rhodey, Pepper, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, and several other Aurors showed up. Even Ron Weasley, who was no longer an Auror, made an appearance. There wasn’t much the group could do that night, however. They interviewed Wade, Stephen, Tony, some of Peter’s friends, and the professors who Peter had class with that Friday. Of course, they determined this might have to do with Peter’s missing file from the Department of Mysteries. Unfortunately, they had no idea where to even start looking.

It was like he had simply vanished into thin air.

Neither Tony nor Stephen had been able to sleep much. They really hadn’t been eating, either. They had spent every waking moment trying to piece together the puzzle of Peter’s disappearance. Tony knew, though, that there was a crucial piece of information that they were missing. He just didn’t know what.

Classes were difficult that day. Tony had a session of Beginners Flying with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in the morning and an Advanced Flying class that afternoon. Stephen had four Charms classes with the first, third, fourth, and seventh years.

There was an obvious presence missing from his Advanced Flying class, one that kept tears in Tony’s eyes the entire session.

Stephen had clearly had a difficult time, too. He stumbles into his office, slamming the door behind him. Tony looks up from the list he was crafting of more locations to search. Stephen drops his books and papers, leans against the door, and puts his hands to his face, a muffled sob escaping his lips. Tony crosses the room in just a few quick steps, catching his husband as his back slides down the door.

“W-what do we do?” Stephen chokes out between sobs. “The Ministry hasn’t told us anything and we keep looking and we just _aren’t finding anything_ and I-I miss him, Tony.” Stephen shoves his face into Tony’s chest as more tears come out.

Tony wraps his arms around Stephen’s shoulders, resting his cheek on his husband’s head, his own vision blurring.

 _Where was their son_?

“We’re gonna find him,” Tony whispers, his voice cracking. “I don’t care how long it takes or what it costs. We _will_ find him, Stephen.”

At that moment, there’s a knock at the door.

The wizard from the portrait appears and says, “Sorry to intrude, but it’s Elizabeth Allen. She appears distressed.”

 _Merlin_ , whatever she was upset about, it was nothing compared to them.

Stephen sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “Okay, yeah, let her in.”

Tony holds a finger up to the portrait, signaling for the wizard to wait. “Are you sure?”

With a nod, Stephen rises to his feet, pulling Tony with him. “Of course.” He lets out a light, humorless laugh. “She’s in my N.E.W.T. level Charms class, and I assigned them a very difficult essay today. I’ve noticed I tend to give challenging assignments when I’m upset.”

Pursing his lips, Tony turns to the portrait and nods. The door swings open, and in comes Elizabeth Allen. Tony notices tear stains on her cheeks immediately, her eyes red.

“Liz?” Stephen says. “What’s the matter, darling?”

She hasn’t looked at either of them, Tony realizes. Her eyes are peeled to the floor, to the wall, anywhere but them.

“I… I don’t know where Peter is,” she says, her voice shaking. “But I know who took him. And I know he’s close.”

* * *

“Repeat everything once more for me, Liz,” Harry Potter says.

Tony can’t stop pacing. Stephen is sitting in a chair in the corner, his head in his hands. They’re back in McGonagall’s office. The same Aurors from last time are there, as well as Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Quill, Rhodey, and Pepper are there as well, and Tony doesn’t know if he’s ever seen his friends so distressed. The moment Liz said she knew something, Tony and Stephen ran her to McGonagall’s office. The headmistress contacted Harry Potter immediately, and the Boy Who Lived showed up with the same backup as last time.

He could feel a small smidge of hope building in his chest. He knew, he _knew_ that there was something they were missing in this giant puzzle of _Where’s Peter_? But when Liz explained what she knew, panic and fear replaced hope in an instant.

Liz takes a deep breath, sniffling. “My father, Adrian Toomes, he was a Death Eater. One of the younger ones, new recruits when Voldemort came back. My mother got me far away from him when she found out about his past, but the older I became, the more I became curious. I found out who he was not long after I started at Hogwarts, and I sent our family’s owl to find him. The owl returned with a letter, and that’s how we’ve been communicating. One day, he started talking about creating a new Dark Wizard. He mentioned Peter’s name in one of his most recent letters. He… he threatened to hurt my mother if I didn’t help him get Peter alone. He knows where she lives.” She wipes at her eyes. “I realize now how incredibly stupid I was to even try to find him in the first place. I-I knew that Peter was dating Wade. I was the one who told Wade about the tunnel near the Slytherin common room. When Wade told me he was going to sneak Peter out of the school through the tunnel, I notified my father. That was Friday.”

“And what was he planning to do with Peter?” Harry Potter asks.

“He had mentioned something about a mind block Peter had,” Liz says. “He wanted to remove the block and create a new Dark Wizard using the stifled magic in Peter’s mind. And…”

She pauses. Harry Potter leans forward. “And, if he was successful, he would test out the new magic by attacking Hogwarts.”

Tony feels sick. He goes to stand by Stephen, placing a hand on his shoulder. Stephen hasn’t moved, his head still trained to the floor.

McGonagall gasps. “It makes sense, doesn’t it, Potter? Create a new Dark Wizard and attack the most protected school in the world.”

Harry Potter nods. “And you said he was close?”

“I would imagine so,” says Liz. “I don’t think he would risk Apparating with a possibly unstable force.”

“Then we have to act now,” Hermione says. “We don’t have much time, so we will use the resources we have. Professor McGonagall, rally all of the professors to the Great Hall. Have the Head Boy and Girl and Prefects escort all students to their common rooms and barricade down.” She turns to the others in the room. “The rest of us will continue the search. Miss Allen is right. Her father can’t have gone far. And if Peter has been missing for three days now, that means that their plans must be failing, and they’re getting desperate.”

McGonagall nods grimly, stepping out to do as the Minister for Magic has instructed. Tony feels Stephen sigh heavily underneath his hand, and his husband stands. Before Tony can say a word, Stephen engulfs him in a hug. Tony wraps his arms around Stephen’s back, their bodies folding into each other.

“We’ll find him,” Stephen whispers. “I’m so scared.”

“I am too,” Tony murmurs. He just wants his son safe and out of harm’s way.

They pull away from each other to find Hermione standing before them, her lips pursed. She reaches forward, grabbing a hand each, and squeezes. “We are going to find him,” she assures. “I can’t imagine what you two are going through. But I assure you, as Minister for Magic, and as a mother myself, I will not rest until—”

At that moment, there’s a blinding flash of light from outside, filing the room with white. Tony feels his stomach drop, and several of them run to the window as soon as the light begins to fade. Way off in the distance, miles away, Tony sees the light fading to a source in a valley.

“That—that has to be something!” he shouts.

“It’s our only hope,” Harry Potter confirms. “But we can’t Apparate in here. Everyone focus on that spot in the valley and memorize it! We have to run off the grounds to Apparate!”

“Curse that Anti-Disapparition Jinx,” Stephen mutters.

Everything happens in a blur. Tony and Stephen stare at the source of the light for a few seconds and take off running, hand in hand, Quill and Rhodey and Pepper not far behind them. All that Tony can process is that they might have found their son and he has to find him, he has to find him and hug him and embarrass him immensely by kissing his cheeks a thousand times like he did when Peter was younger and protect him from all harm. When they find him, Peter’s going to have to deal with two shadows for the rest of his life.

“Wait, Professor Stark!”

Tony slows down, Stephen running right into his back. They turn toward the voice to find Wade Wilson, running toward them, wand in hand.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, gasping for air.

Stephen shakes his head. “No, as Head of Slytherin House, I demand you go back to the common room as instructed.”

“But he’s my boyfriend!” Wade defends. “I’ve been just as miserable as you thinking about what’s happened to him. I just want—”

“Okay, okay! You can come,” Tony says. Stephen whirls on him, but Tony says, “We don’t have time to argue. Just let him come. He can help.”

Stephen sighs. “You stay with us.” Then, he grabs Tony’s hand, and they’re off again. It’s several minutes before they make it past Hogwarts Bridge, beyond the gates. Stephen and Tony slow their pace, Wade alongside them. Harry Potter and the others aren’t far behind, just crossing the path that leads to the gate.

Tony reaches back as they approach, gripping Wade’s shoulder. “We’re Apparating, okay?” Wade nods, and he envisions the valley in his mind. There’s a familiar pull at his stomach, a gush of wind, and he opens his eyes.

They’re in the valley. The first thing that he notices are the unmoving bodies strewn across the field, as though they were tossed around like dolls. He hears the familiar _whoosh_ of others Apparating around him. And, standing in the middle of the (hopefully) unconscious bodies no more than fifty feet away, is a glowing figure.

The figure stands with its arms outstretched, white light emitting from its arms, its legs, its hands, its entire body. What Tony sees next shatters his heart.

It looks like his son. It has the face of his son. But… it isn’t Peter.

_The magic. It’s taken over his mind._

“Oh my god,” Stephen breathes from next to him. “Peter!”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing at Stephen. Before Tony can stop him, grab him and tell him to wait, Stephen takes off running, shouting Peter’s name.

“Stephen, _no_!” Peter tilts his head, holds out a hand, and shoots an orange flame directly at his husband. He hears an ear-piercing shriek; he thinks it may have come from him. Tony can only watch in horror as Stephen (who _didn’t have his wand out_ ) tries to shield himself with his hands. The flames hit his hands head-on, and Stephen screams, falling to his knees and holding his hands to his chest.

Tony’s vision tunnels. He quickly shouts, “Cover me!” and sprints to his husband’s side. “Stephen?”

His husband looks up at him, tears glimmering in his eyes, and holds up his hands. The skin is a painting of pink and red and gray and black, raw and burned, tremors rippling through each finger. There is remanence of blood and soot on the front of his shirt.

Tony turns to the figure, _the thing that looks like his son_. What can they do?

Through the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he hears Hermione shout, “ _Protego horribilis_!” He glances up to see a pale white shield consume the group as the others run up to them, wands in hand. Hermione gasps when she sees Stephen’s hands, kneeling down beside them and placing a careful hand on Stephen’s wrist. “I’m not a Healer, but this might help.” She sets the tip of her wand gently on one of Stephen’s hands, resulting in a gasp from the man, and a blue glow pours from her wand. Tony watches as some of the raw skin seals itself, the dead, grey skin flaking off to the ground. it’s not much, and the tremors in Stephen’s hands are still present, but it will do.

“This shield won’t hold for long, Hermione,” Ron Weasley says. Tony glances up and sees the Peter-figure launching spell after spell at the nearly translucent shield spell, each one causing the bubble to cave a bit more. “What should we do?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do,” Harry Potter speaks up. “We _aren’t_ going to kill him.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” Tony spits, his voice laced with venom. He’d rather the group kill _him_ than his son, even if he is possessed by powerful magic.

Harry Potter brushes off the comment. “We won’t do that because Peter might still be in there. We aim to incapacitate, nothing more. There’re trees nearby, so if you have to take shelter, please do. Prepare yourselves.”

No one takes shelter. As the others in the group pull out their wands, muttering spells under their breath, Tony wraps his arms around Stephen’s shoulders, shielding his husband from the rest.

“Tony, what can we do?” Stephen says, his voice shaky. “Look at him.”

Tony does. Peter is still glowing, slowly walking toward the shield, launching spells of all kinds at the shield with just his hands, colors flying. Tony notices Peter is missing a shoe, and he desperately needs a jacket with weather this cold.

It kills him. It kills him that he can’t run to Peter and rip the possessive magic from his mind and save his boy.

“I don’t know,” Tony eventually says. “But I can’t fight him. I won’t.”

He feels Stephen shake his head. “I won’t either.”

In that moment, an idea hits Tony. It’s an idea that is so dangerous, so risky that he second guesses it several times before saying it aloud.

“What… what if we try to talk to him?”

Stephen glances up, his blue eyes sparkling. “What?”

“I think, if there’s a small chance that Peter _might_ still be in there, maybe we can coax him out. I think we need to approach him head-on, no protection. Just us out there and raw and vulnerable. But it’s very risky. What if…” _What if he isn’t in there at all_?

Stephen lifts a shaky, burned hand, gently touching Tony’s cheek. “I would risk anything to get our boy back. Even death.”

Tony nods, leaning into Stephen’s touch. “Then it’s settled.”

He looks to Quill and Rhodey, who are watching the slowly collapsing shield, and motions them over. Tony quickly explains his thoughts to them. Both men look ready to protest, but one look from him shuts them down.

They know. As fathers themselves, they know that Tony and Stephen have to try to save their child.

There’s a brief period while Quill and Rhodey run back to Harry Potter and Hermione and tell them what Tony and Stephen want to do. While that happens, Tony rises to his feet, putting his hands around Stephen’s shoulders to help him up. Stephen holds his hands against his chest, his shoulders hunched in on himself.

“Now what?” he asks.

Tony turns toward the rest of the group. He sees Quill and Rhodey deep in conversation with Harry Potter and Hermione. Harry Potter looks ready to march over to the two of them and shut them down. Hermione, on the other hand, nods, her eyes shimmering. _She understands._

The four of them make their way over to Tony and Stephen a few moments later.

“I don’t like it,” Harry Potter says. “I don’t like it at all. But if it’s what you want…”

Tony nods. “It is. He’s our son. He might still be in there, and we’re the only ones who can bring him out.”

Hermione purses her lips. “I’m going to tell the others to take cover and cast a smaller shield around us. I don’t know how this shield is still up, so hopefully this one will be the same. You two will be on your own, as requested. But if it gets out of hand, we’ll have no choice but to fight back.”

“Thank you,” Stephen sighs.

Minutes later, Stephen and Tony stand in the middle of the field, holding each other. The shield charm from earlier looks ready to burst at any moment. The others, including Wade (who tried to argue to be up there with Tony and Stephen, but one look from Hermione shut him up), are hiding behind the trees, wands ready to spring into action if this plan goes wrong.

“Ready?” Stephen asks Tony.

Tony shakes his head, holding back tears. “Not in the slightest.” But he turns around anyway and sends Hermione a quick nod. She takes a deep breath, raises her wand, and mutters a quick spell. Tony watches as the translucent shield around them vanishes, and a smaller one appears around the people in the trees.

This is it. They’re on their own.

The two of them turn toward their son. Peter stares at them, his lips spreading into a creepy smile, an evil cackle escaping his lips.

“Finally decide to join the party, eh?” he says. His voice sounds so different; it’s as if multiple people with voices of all octaves are speaking at once. “If you’re not careful, it’ll be your last.”

“Peter!” Tony shouts, his hand gripping his wand to defend himself against any spell his son might throw at him. “We know you’re still in there!”

“You can fight this, Peter! We know you can!” Stephen adds.

Another evil laugh. “Your son is gone. It’s just me now. Do you think you can learn to love the dark magic flowing in your son’s body?” His voice goes high pitched, sounding almost childlike. “Daddy, Papa, do you still love me?”

“Shut it!” Stephen hisses. “Peter, you can fight this!”

It happens so quickly, Tony thinks he must have imagined it. There’s a flicker of pain and confusion on Peter’s face. But it’s gone in an instant.

_It must be working._

Tony starts to open his mouth to speak again when Peter lets out a roar of anger, throwing his arms up and firing two green lights directly at them.

 _Shit_. Tony steps forward and throws his wand arm up, casting a protection spell. The green lights ricochet off the pale white shield, which disappears in an instant. _God,_ he wishes Stephen’s hands were stable enough to hold his wand; his husband is much better at charms than he is.

“You should hear the way he’s crying in here,” Peter cackles, launching another spell at them. Tony throws up another protection spell.

“Fight back, Peter! We know you can!” he shouts.

“We love you, Peter. We love you so much!” Stephen supplies.

“Shut up!” Peter screams.

Tony sees the shield charm fade out of the corner of his eye. They’re vulnerable again.

“Peter, I know you can hear me!” a new voice says. Tony and Stephen turn to see Wade Wilson running up to them, frantic. “I love you, Peter. I still need to take you on that date!”

“Wilson, get back!” Stephen says.

Wade shakes his head. “No, I love him too. I should be up here with you.”

“Then stay behind us,” Tony says.

Wade takes his place behind the two professors. Tony returns his attention to Peter just in time to see another look of anguish on the boy’s face.

“Stop it!” Peter says. “Stay down, you rat!”

“We gotta keep going,” Tony whispers to the others. “Peter, we love you!”

“Keep fighting! Don’t hold back!” Stephen shouts.

“You’re stronger than this!” Wade yells.

Tony watches as Peter falls to his knees, his hands on the sides of his head, gripping his hair. “No, stop!”

There’s a sudden flash of light that disappears in seconds. Tony turns his attention back to Peter. His son is still glowing, but the light is fainter than it was before. Peter rises to his feet, and what comes next almost knocks Tony to the ground.

“Dad? Papa?”

Tony feels his heart burst; he hears Stephen gasp. _It’s Peter’s voice._ He starts to take a step toward his son when Peter throws his hands out.

“No! Stay back,” he says. “I have a hold on the magic, but I don’t know how long I can keep it back.”

Tony nods grimly. Even now, their son is playing the part of the noble hero. “We’re here with you, Peter. We’ll always be here.”

Peter manages a small grin, but his face is scrunched up in pain. “Listen,” he starts, “if this goes bad, I want you to kill me.”

“What? No!” Tony says.

“Absolutely not,” Stephen agrees.

“The people who did this to me, they wanted to raise another Dark Wizard. Please don’t let it happen. Don’t let it be me,” Peter says. Even from this distance, Tony can see his cheeks are wet with tears. “I love you.”

Before they can say anything else, Peter screams. The glow around him grows brighter again, and this time when Peter looks up, he has an evil grin on his face.

“Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Peter holds out a hand in their direction, and suddenly Tony only knows a white-hot, intense _pain_. He falls to the ground, screaming, as his entire body convulses in agony. It feels like he’s being dipped in boiling hot oil over and over again—he can’t breathe and yet he can’t stop screaming—he just wants it to end—he can hear the monstrous voice coming out of Peter mocking them—he wants it all to stop—

As quickly as it starts, the pain leaves his body. Tony gasps, inhaling deeply as he suddenly realizes he can _breathe_ again. He tilts his head. From where he’s laying flat on his back, he can see Stephen and Wade are on the ground as well, breathing just as hard as he is. And in the distance, he can see the others are in the same condition. That _had_ to have been the Cruciatus Curse. Tony’s never felt pain like that.

And if Peter’s dark magic can affect _all_ of them… just how powerful is it?

He turns his head the opposite direction. Peter looks pained, confused, lost. He shakes his head, and the demonic voice comes out again.

“Oh no you don’t, you pest. When I’m done with your friends, you’re next.”

Peter raises his hand again and says, “I haven’t killed them yet because I want you to watch them suffer at _your_ hands.”

“It isn’t you, Peter!” Stephen shouts.

“Keep fighting!” Tony adds.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up!” He waves his hand in their direction, slowly. Tony tries to say something else but finds he can’t speak. Peter must’ve cast the Silencing Charm.

With another gesture, the pain is back. Tony was ready for it this time, but that doesn’t stop him from crying out. Through the torment, he feels a hand grab his own, he turns his head and finds that Stephen has inched closer to him, his own body writhing in pain. Time seems to _drag_ on, his body on fire, like someone is carving him open and peeling his skin away from his flesh piece-by-piece. Why hasn’t he passed out yet?

_Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeit—_

But it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop and Tony feels like he’s going to lose his mind and he can’t take much more of this and he wonders why he just _won’t give into the pain—_

The next moment, the agony, the torment, is gone again. As it fades away, Tony’s limbs still twitching with phantom triggers, he hears something… odd. He sits up, glancing to Stephen and Wade and helping them as well, and he hears it again. He looks toward Peter and notices the strange, glowing light illuminating his figure is fading again.

“No, _stay down_!” Then, in Peter’s voice, “This is _my_ body, _mine_!” A pause. “You _can’t_ beat me, you worm!” And then, “I _will_ beat you!”

_Peter and the Dark magic are fighting for control._

“I _don’t_ belong to you! _I cast you out_!” Peter shouts.

Tony stares in shock as Peter suddenly screams, curling in on himself, his hands clutching at his head. Another white light flashes, illuminating the field with such a brilliant light that Tony has to turn away. And in an instant, the light is gone; only the pale light from the moon remains. Tony looks back.

Peter is laying in the same spot on the hill, unmoving. The glow emitting from his body is gone.

This time, there’s nothing to stop Tony from running to his son, Stephen and Wade right on his tail. His legs are shaky and nearly give out on him a number of times, but he pushes through.

“Peter!” he says, grateful that he can speak again, and collapses to the ground beside him. Tony quickly presses a trembling finger to Peter’s neck. He almost slumps in relief when he feels a pulse. “Peter, please wake up.”

Stephen drops to his knees, placing a burned, shaky hand on Peter’s chest. Tony glances up at him and sees tears streaming down his husband’s cheeks.

Wade comes up beside them. “Is he…”

Tony shakes his head. “No. No, he’s…”

_Alive._

Tony can’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes now. Their son is _alive._

He hears more footsteps approaching as the others make their way toward them. There’s quiet whispering from the group, but Tony tunes them out. He keeps his eyes on Peter, watching, waiting.

Suddenly, Peter’s eyes shoot open. He jolts up, gasping for air. The sudden movements cause Tony and Stephen to jump. It takes Tony a second to process what just happened.

“Oh god, Peter!” Tony wraps his son in a massive hug, tears steadily flowing down his cheeks now. He feels Stephen put his arms around the two of them, Stephen’s own tears dripping on the back of his neck.

“I… I did it,” he hears Peter say and, _god_ , he’s so glad to hear his son’s normal voice again. “I stopped it.”

Stephen chuckles lightly. “You did.”

“We’re so proud of you,” Tony whispers into Peter’s hair. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Tony can hear Peter take a few more deep breaths before he breaks down in sobs. He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, with he and Stephen shielding their son from the rest of the world. It’s only when Peter’s sobs start to quiet that they pull away, Tony keeping a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter gasps. “Oh Papa, your hands... I did that to you.”

Stephen glances down at his tremoring fingers, then back up at his son. “No, you didn’t. This had nothing to do with you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says.

Tony runs his hands through Peter’s unruly curls, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s temple. He isn’t sure what all Peter endured during those few days that he was gone, what sort of pain he had to go through when the mind block was ripped from his head. He knows that this might not be the end of their troubles with the now released magic. They don’t know what Peter did to put an end to this madness. The seemingly unstoppable magic still might be there… but it’s possible that it’s vanished completely. But Tony knows that no matter what, he and Stephen will be there for him through it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left now is the epilogue! (Also, I've got an exciting announcement that I'll share at the beginning of the next chapter!)  
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at slytherinironstrange.tumblr.com!


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